Adam Mann

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RnJRo

Its Just Not Cricket!

Adam Mann


Published by Phaze Books

By Adam Mann

Safari Heat

Its Just Not Cricket!

This is an explicit and erotic novel

intended for the enjoyment

of adult readers. Please keep

out of the hands of children.

www.Phaze.com


Copyright © 2015 by Adam Mann

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Edited by: Kelley Heckart

Cover Art © 2015 by Niki Browning

First Edition August 2015

Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-435-3

Published by:

Phaze Books

An imprint of Celeritas Unlimited LLC

6457 Glenway Ave., #109

Cincinnati, OH 45211

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of

this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical

including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without

permission in writing from the publisher, Celeritas Unlimited LLC, 6457 Glenway Avenue, #109,

Cincinnati, Ohio 45211, books@mundania.com.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the

author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and

does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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Chapter One

Caught and Bowled!

I sat near the window on the lower floor of the bus watching the people

in the street as the bus travelled along. Opposite me, a group of ladies were

chatting and laughing loudly together, obviously intending to enjoy a night

out together.

I used the bus, as did many people in this city, because trying to park

a car was almost impossible and the surcharges expensive. The alternative,

a taxi, worked great for short distances but were very expensive for longer

trips. The underground, also known as the tube, was great if it wasn’t raining.

It was evening, and I was on my way home after a difficult day in my

office, and decided to console myself with a quiet drink. The group of ladies,

and I counted five of them for some reason, got off the bus at the stop before

me, and all of them walked along the road, chatting and laughing together.

My stop was another four or five hundred yards, and I got off and

headed for one of my favorite pubs, or public house, if you don’t like that

abbreviation. I pushed the swing-door open and strode in. I was surprised

how crowded it was—perhaps many other people had had a bad day at the

office!

The barman saw me and raised a hand. I nodded, and he lifted a glass

to the dispenser. The amber liquid trickled into the tumbler. He lifted it over

customers’ heads towards me, and I reached to get it. He had put two small

cubs of ice in the tumbler, just as I liked.

I took a large sip and immediately felt better.

I headed towards a quiet corner of the pub with a glass in one hand

and the evening newspaper that I hadn’t been able to read on the bus, in the

other.

I swilled the liquid and the half-melted ice cubes in my glass and took

a larger drink, and the world seemed to be a better place.

The news was depressing—papers rarely publish good news—and I

put the paper down to look around the pub. There were several single men I


knew, some of them talking together. One man, about my age, sat at the bar.

He looked up and waved at me, but did not smile and somewhat morosely

went back to his drink. Knowing him, I realized he also probably had a bad

day at his office, but then according to him, he usually did.

I’d better explain.

I work for a publishing company, and we specialize in romance books

which over the years have sold very well. That was the traditional print

paperback books, which still sell, but indie books, or electronic books,

e-books, are slowly overtaking them.

The company does not mind this as we also sell some of the new books

as e-books. It is the selling and marketing of these that is the problem, and

the so-called marketplace is still being defined. The traditional market for

readers was the local bookstore, or the newsagent, but the costs of retaining

those markets is growing, stocks of paper books have to be retained, and the

costs of printing increasing daily.

Unfortunately, many authors self-publish their books, which is great for

all of us, but the quality of some of these books is sometimes questionable,

or not good, indeed terrible, with little editing or even proofreading, and

glaring mistakes left for the reader to cope with.

My work is in editing and proofreading. I have a team of hardworking

editors and readers, mainly women, but also a few elderly men.

The finance department of the company has been trying to reduce costs

and overheads, and they even suggested we reduce the fees we pay to our

editors. Their suggestion was to reduce the amount of work we give to the

established staff, and recruit younger people to do their work but for lower

fees.

My original suggestion was that we should try to reduce printing costs

so we could keep the costs of printed books at affordable levels.

The argument goes on and on. On the face of it everybody is right, but

that takes away the human aspect; after all, reading is a pastime, a hobby,

and something to be enjoyed.

A commotion erupted in the pub near the bar, causing me to look

up from my drink. The group of five ladies that I had noticed on the bus

earlier had made their way into the pub and were now meeting friends, but

apparently a bit later than arranged.

A second drink would not hurt, I reasoned…

I caught the barman’s eye and held my glass in the air, and he gave me

a brief nod. A minute later, the waitress brought a new glass to me, with

several ice cubes in another small bowl. I picked some up and put them in


my glass, and gave my empty tumbler to the waitress. She smiled at me but

did not ask for any money, as she knew I would settle with the barman later.

A group of people lurched towards me, and I stood rapidly to avoid

spilling my drink. A woman at the edge of the raucous group looked over

her shoulder at me and smiled. I was shocked! What a beautiful face she

had.

Her skin was perfect and slightly tanned. She wore several tints of

carefully applied mascara on her gorgeous eyes which accentuated the

brown-green of her irises. Her dark pink lipstick was applied perfectly—not

a smudge or a smear out of place as her lips rippled in the light. Her hair was

shoulder length, dark brown and casually brushed.

For a minute, I thought she was an Indian actress, who had got lost on

her way from Bollywood. But what a beautiful face!

I quickly picked up my newspaper to avoid staring at her, and found I

was looking at the sports page. To my surprise, she detached herself from

the group and came to talk to me.

“What’s the cricket score?” she asked.

I turned the page to me, but could only see football scores and comments,

so I admitted my mistake.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have been staring at you, but you do have a beautiful

face,” I stammered. She smiled and held out her hand by way of introduction.

I jumped to my feet, again.

“My name’s Angela,” the apparition said to me.

“I’m William, but please don’t call me Bill,” I said as I took her hand.

Her skin was soft and warm, but her grasp was quite firm.

“What are you doing here?” she asked politely.

“Just having a drink on my way home from work,” and then I realized

my bad manners, and asked, “can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks,” she smiled and it was like a sudden flash of lightning,

“but you could buy me dinner somewhere?”

Wow!

I instinctively put my hand on my back pocket to feel if I had any

money, and then remembered my Visa card was in my jacket pocket.

“What would you like to eat?” I recovered my poise, or at least I tried

to.

“Do you live around here?” she probed.

“Yes, this is my local pub.”

“I thought the barman knew you,” it was her turn to admit. “So, what

food do you like?”


“Really good Indian food.” I was inspired, and she smiled with a look

of contentment.

“Come on,” she said and took my hand again, “I know a good place,

and not too far away.”

I followed her like a lamb to the slaughter, and as we passed the end of

the bar, I gave a fiver to the barman, who waved his hand at me in thanks,

but I did notice the sly grin on his face!

She told the taxi driver where to go, and had her money for the fare out

of her small handbag before I had a chance to offer payment.

The manager of the restaurant probably recognized her, as he greeted

her with a great deal of respect and showed us to a table away from the main

road and near the garden. It was a round table, but the two chairs were not

facing one another but instead placed next to each other. I held a chair for

her, and then sat beside her.

I turned my head to look at her, and again was shaken by her wonderful

complexion, her smooth caramel coloring.

“I’m sorry to stare, but where did you get such a beautiful face?”

She smiled and reached for my hand, and then turned her almondshaped

eyes towards me.

“I was born in India, but my father was English and my mother was

Anglo-Indian,” and she continued, “there are many slang words used to

describe us, but my role model is Vivian Leigh, whom I believe had a Parsi

grandmother.”

The manager came to talk to her and asked politely in English about

her parents. He carried two menus, but she waved them away and told him

what she wanted, also in English. The manager slightly bowed and left us.

A few minutes later, a waiter came to the table. He stood to attention for

some reason, and then started to set the table. There were no knives, just a

spoon and a fork for each place setting.

We waited just a few minutes, when another waiter brought us two

glasses and a jug of cold water.

The first waiter brought us a tray laden with several plates, an ovenbaked

flat bread or naan, yogurt with cucumber, some poached okra or

bindi, and a huge bowl of lamb cooked in a sauce of ground almonds.

Angela supervised the meal, but I could not help noticing that she did

not eat much herself. I used the naan to pick up the delicious pieces of the

lamb with my fingers, which was just scrumptious, and fell off the bone.

My mind had been racing, whilst I ate.

“So you’re only half Anglo-Indian, I suppose.”


She nodded. I just could not help the next question.

“If we had children, what would they be,” I blurted, and she laughed

aloud.

“What have you got in mind?” She did not stop laughing, and I held her

hand which she rested near me on the table.

“Sorry.” I grinned, and I did not let go of her hand, but neither did she

pull her hand away.

We finished the delicious meal, and only drank water, so that the taste

of the spices and the almonds remained in my mouth.

She waved to the waiter who came with cups and saucers, and a pot of

green tea. She explained, “We could drink cinnamon tea, but not after that

meal.”

It was my turn to look at her again, which I enjoyed.

“What are you doing in London?” I asked.

“I live here with my parents, who are mad about tennis, so we live near

Wimbledon.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I work for a publishing company,” I explained, “but my parents live in

the north of England. My father used to be a printer, which is how I got into

publishing, but now he’s retired.”

“So where do you live now?”

“I have a small flat near the pub we met in today,” I stated, and then

added, “if I asked you to come and see it, after what I said earlier, you will

definitely think I had an ulterior motive.”

She laughed. “You’re not married?”

“No, I suppose I should be, but I played a lot of sports—but not tennis.”

I gripped her hand again, and I’m sure she gripped mine.

She looked at me and made me wriggle on the chair. Her face really

was beautiful and her skin seemed to glow in the half light of the restaurant.

I was beginning to feel warm, but she just looked cool and superior.

“Do you mind if I ask you if you have a girlfriend?” she asked quietly,

still holding my hand tightly now.

“Tons,” I said and laughed.

“Can I apply to join the end of the queue?” she continued in her quiet

voice.

“Application accepted,” I said immediately, but then realized she meant

it. “Perhaps you’d better come to see where I live,” I added, “but you are so

beautiful, I may never let you go.”

“Promise?” She squeezed my hand.


“Let’s get the bill.”

The waiter had been hovering, and he came with the bill in a folder,

which he put on the table. Without looking at it, I gave the folder back with

my Visa card inside.

“Let me see,” she said, reaching for the folder, and in doing so, had to

let go of my hand.

“Umph,” she said, and then “OK,” as the manager came to assist.

“Taxi?” I asked as the waiter returned with the receipt.

I gave the driver my address and sat with Angela in the back of the taxi,

holding her hand. She quickly paid the taxi driver again before I could get

any money out of my pocket.

My flat is on the ground floor, and very simple. The three-story building

is quiet, new and was built as flats, or apartments. I have a largish sitting

room, plus a combined kitchen diner to one side, and my bedroom is tucked

away in one corner with a bathroom. The sitting room has a large glass

window with a view of the garden, which all the flats share. There are larger

flats on the other side of the building.

I had sweated blood to find the deposit two years ago and refused to ask

my parents for help, but had now settled into a regular payment from my

bank account each month to the bank’s loan company.

I offered the beautiful Angela a chair, but she shook her head and asked,

“Can I look around?”

“Of course, let me get some tea whilst you look.” I thought that would

be the best way to give her a free rein rather than guide her.

She looked everywhere, the kitchen first as I put the kettle on, then the

sitting room, bathroom which took her a minute or two, and then when she

thought I wasn’t looking, my bedroom. She told me later she was looking

for traces of the “Tons of Girlfriends” I had admitted to earlier.

She came back smiling and sat in a large chair. I handed her tea, and

then offered her milk and sugar. She took both.

I should explain perhaps; when I was furnishing this flat just after I

moved in, I didn’t have enough money to buy furniture, so I bought a large

three-seat sofa and used it as my bed for several months until I could afford

one. When I returned to the shop to buy the two armchairs that originally

went with the sofa, one had been sold, so my room, as always, seemed to

be a bit lopsided.

“William?” she asked, “can I be presumptive, and assume that I might

be near the top of the list?”

Wow, I almost fell over. I had expected this beautiful lady to ask me to


get a taxi, but instead she wanted to stay. I looked at the clock and it was

still only ten.


Chapter Two

Straight Down the Middle

I sat on my sofa and drank my tea, but I just couldn’t take my eyes off

Angela. She was just lovely.

“Come and sit near me so that I don’t have to shout,” I suggested.

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard,” she said, smiling, as she put

down her cup, stood and walked to the sofa.

She sat right next to me, and her thighs pressed against my leg. I put

an arm around her, and thank goodness she leaned towards me. I kissed her

hair.

“Don’t you want to ask me about my parents?” she demanded.

I was breathing her intoxicating perfume that engulfed me, and I was

not thinking about her parents. I pulled myself together.

“What does your father do?” I asked eventually.

“Nothing, he’s retired, but he was a diplomat which is how he met my

mother, in India.” She looked up at me.

“Is she as beautiful as you?”

“Tell me when you meet them,” she said simply.

I put my free hand on her knee, and she didn’t say anything.

“You didn’t eat much,” I started.

“I don’t want to get fat.”

I used that excuse to put my hand on her thigh and feel her leg.

“You’re not fat.” I was still struggling, but she helped me by patting

down her skirt on her legs.

“Are you looking down my cleavage?” she demanded.

“How do you know?” I blushed.

“I can see in that mirror.” She laughed, and lifted her head to kiss me.

Wow, again.

I moved my hand to her waist, but I missed and touched her breast. It

fit in my palm.

She moved so that she almost faced me, and I pulled her towards me. I

could now feel both breasts against my chest.


“Hold me tight, please, William,” she whispered.

I did what I was told, and then lifted her legs onto the sofa so that she

was lying on me.

I was so entranced with her beautiful face that I hadn’t noticed she wore

a tight dark green skirt, and a white blouse buttoned down the front, with a

v-front that set off her cleavage.

I kissed her lips, and she sighed. I did not want to smudge her lipstick,

so I moved my lips sideways to her ear, which I also kissed.

She moved so that we faced each other on our sides, and I moved my

lips from her ear and kissed her neck.

She giggled, and said, “That tickles!”

I put my hand on her bottom and pulled her body toward me, and she

lifted her arm so that I could kiss her cleavage.

She lifted her breasts toward me, and her perfume assailed me again.

I moved my mouth down and kissed the exposed part of one breast,

and she held me tight. As she relaxed, I used my spare hand to undo the

top button of her blouse. She wore a very lacy bra, with a center clip, so I

undid another button and then tried to undo the clip between her breasts.

She moved her shoulders forward to ease it open.

This time I moved myself along the sofa, so I could place my mouth

near her breasts. I kissed the skin at the base of one breast and then slowly

moved my lips to her nipple. All the time, she had been lifting her breasts

towards my mouth.

As my tongue touched her nipple, she moaned, and her nipple hardened

to my touch. Her perfume filled my senses and increased my passion.

Her skin was a very light brown color, and she had a slightly darker

brown shade, a halo, around her nipples. I stopped kissing her breasts to

admire her.

She smiled at me, and kissed my head.

I took a deep breath and moved my hand to her waist, feeling for the

clip on her belt. She wriggled her body to help me find it. There was a zipper

underneath which I gently unfastened, and her skirt loosened around her

stomach.

I put my hand under her skirt, touching her panties, and slid my fingers

into the space between her underwear and her bottom.

She gasped but still held and kissed my head.

I moved off the sofa and knelt on the floor, turning towards her. She

smiled at me and the smile on that beautiful face was just marvelous.

I put one arm under her thighs and another under her chest, and lifted


her. She wrapped her arms around my neck. I stood and turned towards my

bedroom.

“Gently, William,” she said.

She still had on her shoes, black high heels, which she took off after I

laid her carefully on my bed. She lay there smiling at me but did not move,

or attempt to get under the duvet.

I eased her up to take off her skirt. She did not object and even wriggled

a bit to help me.

Standing by the bed, I took off my shirt, and then loosened the belt

holding my trousers. She looked at me and smiled.

Suddenly, she held her hands out towards me. My penis gradually grew

erect beneath her touch and poked out of my underpants as my trousers fell

off. I stepped out of them and walked to the edge of the bed.

She sat up and took off her unbuttoned blouse and her bra. Her breasts

were just lovely, flawless, as if she had been carved and smoothed from

light brown clay.

I lay beside her on the bed. “Do you want the duvet?”

She shook her head.

It was not so cold, and I was boiling.

I was now able to hold her body against me and it seemed like her

hardened nipples made a mark on my chest and set sparks of arousal to my

penis. I kissed her, her ears and her neck. She responded by kissing me and

holding me close as she still lay under me.

My erect penis rested on her stomach, and she put one hand down to

feel it.

“William,” she said, “please be gentle. I’ve never done it this way

before!”

I stopped to look at her for a second, and then moved down the bed so

that I could kiss her stomach, and then I slid her panties down to her knees

with my chin. She giggled, and held my head close to her pubis.

I kissed the black curly hairs leading to her clitoris. Her breathing grew

hard, and she gasped as my tongue touched her there.

She moaned as she felt my tongue on her clitoris so I kissed it and

moved to her legs. I had to push her panties down to her ankles, and she

kicked them off. I carefully kissed the inside of her thighs, and she opened

her legs slowly to allow me to kneel between them. I turned to face her.

Angela reached up to touch my erect penis.

“Careful, please, William, darling,” she whispered.

I looked at her, and she was lovely all over. I held my penis in my hand


and very gently stroked the opening to her vagina. It was wet, but very

small, and I gently put the tip of my penis into her.

With her fingers on my waist, she cried out.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, but she lifted her vagina towards

my penis.

I thrust into her very slowly, and when my penis was halfway in, I had

to lean forward to lie on her beautiful body. She held me very tight, and I

gently slid the rest of my penis into her, and she opened her legs.

“Wonderful!” she cried.

Her nipples were now very hard, but her breasts were very soft against

me.

I began to move into her, and she quickly got the message and arched

toward me, with her fingers digging into my back.

“Oh, my god,” she cried as she reached her climax.

Her tight, wet, hot vagina clamped around me, and I could feel my own

climax starting as the muscles in my bottom flexed.

My body shuddered and I quickly pulled my penis out of her vagina.

My semen spurted onto her lovely, soft stomach.

I held her tight and kissed her. She reached out to feel the sticky semen

on her stomach and between us.

“Thank you, William, darling,” she said aloud, “you did not hurt me a

bit!”

We both lay very still for a long time, and then the skin on my bottom

prickled from the cold air, so I rolled with Angela so we could get under the

duvet.

She kissed me, and still held me very tight to her body, and under the

duvet she put her legs around me.

My mind raced. Do I offer to take her home, or will she stay here all

night? If we do it again, do I have any condoms in the bathroom?

We slept for a bit, and she woke me up with a kiss.

“Can I stay with you all night?” she asked.

“You can stay here forever,” I confessed.

“I’d better ring my parents,” she decided, and began to get out of bed.

I got up with her. We stood facing one another, naked, and she made no

attempt to cover herself, but smiled at me, and leaned in to kiss me. She was

about three inches shorter than me, and I’m six foot.

She had the classic Venus-shaped body with the small breasts leading

down to a slim waist, lovely round hips, shaping gently to long legs.

I found my dressing gown, which I gave her, and she wrapped it around


her as she went to the bathroom. The water flushed and she came out, running

straight into my arms. My penis wanted to start again, twitching beneath the

loosely wrapped towel around my waist, but I took her to the sitting room

and handed her the telephone.

As she dialed a number, I went to the kitchen and switched on the

kettle. I heard her taking to someone.

“Darling,” she called to me, “what’s this address?”

I whispered to her, and she repeated the information on the telephone.

“I’m fine,” I heard her say. “See you tomorrow.”

I handed her a cup of tea, and we returned to my bedroom.

Without hesitation, she took off my dressing gown, handed it to me,

and jumped into bed.

“Come on, William, darling, we’ve a lot to talk about!”

I got into bed alongside her and held her tight. She was gorgeous, and

she kissed me frequently. My penis was getting excited just at the thought

of her, and I had to lie down. She kissed me and moved to lay on top of me

facedown. My erect penis stabbed between her legs. She moved along my

body towards my face, and then she moved back down the bed so that my

penis was completely entrapped inside her hot and wet vagina.

“Hold tight, darling,” she said and closed her legs. The pain and the

pleasure were both excruciating and wonderful at the same time.

She started moving so that I was thrusting up and into her.

“If I come, I won’t be able to get my penis out of you,” I pleaded.

“Good,” she said and carried on thrusting.

“Are you certain?” I asked, and she groaned.

“I’ve already fallen in love with you,” she panted.

I rolled us both over, with my penis tight inside her, and started thrusting.

She kissed me and screamed as she reached her first climax, and her vagina

squeezed and quivered around my penis.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” I asked again.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She held me so tight I couldn’t get my penis out of her

if I tried.

“Open your legs,” I asked, just before my ejaculation started. It seemed

that my penis went even deeper into her wonderful body as she thrust the

opening of her vagina up to me, and she moaned with delight and kissed

me, gripping me tight with her outspread fingers, as she reached her second

climax.

“Oh, my God, that was wonderful,” she cried.

We just lay still for a long time, with my penis still inside her. As we


fell asleep, I must have rolled to one side, and Angela stayed close to me

all night.

I woke up as she kissed me again in the early morning.

I lifted the duvet to look at her, and she was not only beautiful, but her

skin was flushed with loveliness.

Her breasts were tight against my side, and my arm was still around

her. She lifted one leg and put it over my stomach. I looked at her face, and

she nodded at my unasked question.

“I’m not a virgin anymore, so you can do whatever you like to me.” She

smiled, so I turned her onto her stomach with her face in the pillow.

I knelt behind her and lifted her bottom off the bed with her knees

slightly apart. My penis didn’t need any priming, and I stroked her wet

vagina with the tip of it as I gently inserted it into the opening. I reached

with one hand under her stomach and found her clitoris, which I stroked

with my fingers.

“I’m coming already,” she screamed and she did as I thrust all my

erection into her lovely body. The teasing that I had imparted also worked

on me, and I ejaculated into her body for a long time, or at least it seemed

that way. She reached her second climax with my penis deep inside her.

We collapsed together on the bed, and I rolled to one side, but she

remained facedown for a several minutes.

I’d forgotten that the next day was a Saturday, but I was a bit startled

when we woke together at nine o’clock.

She was awake and lying on her back with her fingers in her vagina.

“Some of your semen came out of me in the night,” she announced,

“but a lot stayed in me.”

“I should have looked around for a condom,” I admitted.

“No, no, no, I wanted to feel you inside me!” She kissed me again.

“Let’s have a shower,” I suggested, not wanting to consider what we

would do if she became pregnant.

I’m sure I staggered to the bathroom, but she danced in front of me,

smiling. We showered together, and I looked at her wonderful body. The

water glistened on her golden skin and her hair as she allowed the water to

flow over her body. She surely was a beautiful lady.

I dried her with the bath towel, and she took another to dry her hair. All

that was left for me to use was a small hand towel.

“Breakfast!” I said.

“William, darling, I haven’t got any clothes!” she complained as she

hunted around under the duvet for her discarded panties. She put them on,


grimacing.

“Let’s go shopping,” I said.

“Like this?” She laughed, naked except for her panties, but she managed

to find her bra, and then her blouse, which she put on gingerly. She had worn

tights that I had not noticed before, but now they were torn and a complete

write off, so she wriggled her feet into her high heels.

“Darling,” she announced, “let’s have breakfast later when I feel more

comfortable in clean clothes.”


Chapter Three

The Umpire’s Review

Some of the clothing shops were still opening even in mid-morning

when we arrived at the shopping center, but first we visited a large department

store where she collected a variety of underwear and several pairs of tights.

She spoke to the shop assistant and went into a cubicle to change, and she

came out smiling.

I paid the bill at the checkout counter, and the dopey assistance

wondered where some of the purchases had gone! We walked past several

clothing shops. Angela held my hand, swinging her arms and smiling. I

walked, but she positively danced.

She found a shop where she liked the clothes in the window, and I

followed her inside and patiently waited. She chose a dress with a square

neckline, a tight waist and a flowery skirt, which suited her ebullient mood.

She kissed me in front of the shop assistants, and they all smiled, and

one of the elder assistants came to her with a small posy and said, “I hope

you’ll both be very happy!”

Angela kissed her on her cheek, and the elder woman blushed whilst

the other assistants all laughed.

Angela continued dancing out of the shop and into the local supermarket.

She purchased cereal, brown sugar and several other items, and we returned

to my flat for breakfast.

“Now, William,” she started, and I looked at her, “can you come and

meet my parents this afternoon?”

“Do you want to get married?” I asked, but for some reason I did not

feel at all hemmed in.

“I suppose if I get pregnant, we should get married,” she responded,

“but we’ve only just met, and you might not like me when I’m in a bad

mood.”

“You always look wonderful,” I said, “and I just cannot imagine you in

a bad mood, but please tell me, sweetheart, why did you pick me?”

“At first I wanted to get away from the crowded pub, but then when


we went to that Indian restaurant, you were so polite and well-mannered,

for some reason I decided that I wanted you as the father of my children.

It’s all a bit illogical, but I was a bit nervous!” She paused a moment then

continued, “Last night you were so kind and gentle, I began to fall in love

with you, and now I want you to be with me forever!”

“What time did you tell your parents we’d be there?”

“They’ll expect us for lunch, but they don’t know yet you’re a man.”

“It that a problem?”

“No. When I tell my mother that I’ve fallen in love with you, she’ll

understand. She met my father at an Embassy reception, and she always

told me it was love at first sight.”

I called a minicab to take us to Wimbledon, and as she said, they didn’t

live far from The All England Club.

Her mother was almost as lovely as Angela, and I must admit I gasped

in astonishment. She was in her fifties, and had the exotic face and smooth

complexion that cameramen craved when filming the crowds watching

sporting events.

Her father was a bit older. Angela held my hand and took me to meet

him. His dark hair was graying a bit, but otherwise he looked fit and strong.

We shook hands. He had a strong grip.

“Do you play tennis, William?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, “but I’m not much good.”

“Never mind, but you must show me after lunch.” Angela had

disappeared to talk to her mother, and she had not warned me about the

possibility of having to play tennis.

Lunch was delicious. The salad contained herbs not normally found in

England, so that it smelled as good as it tasted.

After lunch, we headed for the sitting room, overlooking their garden,

but Angela took my hand and led me upstairs to her room.

“Can I stay with you for a bit, darling?” she asked.

I nodded. The idea of Angela being available full-time was mindblowing.

“Here, hold this.” She passed me a canvas bag, and that was just

for her shoes! A small suitcase was opened in which she put her delicate

undergarments neatly folded and packed, and there was a third suitcase for

some of her clothes.

After a few minutes, I put down the case and walked across the room to

her, and held her tight, kissing her. She looked at her bed and smiled at me,

but I shook my head, and kissed her again.


From the bottom of the stairs, her father called, “Anyone for tennis?”

I helped her carry the cases downstairs.

Angela’s father had obviously been well-briefed by her mother.

“Great, William,” he said, “what sports do you play?”

“I like playing rugby in the winter and cricket in the summer if I can get

a game, and squash whenever I can’t.”

“Oh,” her father replied, “I shall have to look to my laurels, won’t I?”

“There are some tennis shoes that might fit you in that cupboard, and

I’ve sent Angela to find you some other clothes.”

Just then the lovely Angela came in carrying an armful of old clothes,

and I quickly found a shirt and a pair of shorts that almost fit me, and then

I found an old pair of tennis shoes in the cupboard that were a bit stiff with

age, but fit me more or less.

We walked out to the garden, and then down towards a tennis court at

the end. There were three wooden chalets at one side of a large garden, each

with a verandah at the front.

“That was Mum’s idea,” she said, looking at the chalets, “and we let

them to tennis fans for Wimbledon, and at several other times during the

summer.”

Angela followed us and blew a kiss at me as her father and I walked

onto the court through a steel door in the mesh fencing. There was a big

cupboard on one side. Angela’s father opened it, revealing maybe twenty

or thirty tennis racquets hanging on hooks. Some had wooden frames, but

others were carefully wrapped in plastic bags. There was even a note above

each hook detailing the racquet’s tension.

Wow! I thought to myself.

I chose a racquet at random and followed her father onto the playing

area of the court. It was made from a metallic ore base with a graveled-top

dressing. I walked to one end as a tennis ball hit by Angela’s father bounced

around my legs.

“Let’s knock up for a bit, and then one set, OK?” called her father from

the other end. It really was not a question. “I’ll serve three and then three

serves for you, OK?”

I picked up a tennis ball and took my time to make a practice serve.

The ball was way out, and then my shoulder tingled a bit as I used muscles

I hadn’t for months. Tennis has less wrist action than squash.

My last practice serve was in and very fast. It was a lucky shot, but

Angela cheered and then I realized she was and always would be my best

supporter.


Her father easily won his first three serves; 3:0.

I tried hard but could only win two of my serves; 4:2.

“Come on, darling,” cheered Angela. Her mother and some others had

come to watch, and maybe play.

Her father was playing to win, and we battled to 5:4, and then it was

my turn to serve again. My first serve fairly sizzled; 5:5 and all square. I lost

the next serve 6:5, and then just managed to claw back the third, 6:6! So all

square again!

Her father played well and could hit and place the ball hard. He won

the next serve to give him a lead of 7:6. He had only to win the next serve

to win the set.

His serve was good, but I scrambled to get it back. It was a long rally,

but he was too good for me in the end. We shook hands at the net.

“Well played, William,” he said to me, “It looks like she’ll be in good

hands.” He smiled, at the same time scolding Angela as she tried to come

onto the court, but not wearing tennis shoes.

“That was the most exciting tennis match I’ve ever seen,” crowed

Angela, and I heard comments from some of the others, like; ‘she’s biased,’

said one, and ‘blinded by love,’ said another.

I put my arm round her and kissed her, and I noticed that her mother

smiled to herself.

We all drank tea at the side of the tennis court, and believe it or not,

Angela passed around a plate of cucumber sandwiches. But it wasn’t the

strawberry season.

“We should go soon, darling,” announced Angela.

“Wait a bit and I’ll drive you,” said her father, and so we waited.

We set off about six, and Angela and her mother sat in the backseat.

This gave me a chance to see them both together, and I realized from where

Angela got her beauty. Her mother saw me looking and smiled again to

herself.

Her father and I carried the bags into my flat, and I saw Angela and her

mother talking together in my bedroom. But they were both laughing.

Her father said nothing, and he sat quietly whilst we all drank tea, again.

I had to ask, “Do you have any other children?”

Angela’s mother smiled again and said, “Yes, we have two boys older

than Angela.”

“One works in Dubai, and the other is an engineer who works in

Singapore,” volunteered Angela.

“They’re both married but neither have children, yet, as both their


wives are also working,” added her mother.

“Maybe I’ll beat them to it.” Angela smiled, holding my hand tightly,

and her father laughed.

Later that evening as we walked back to the car, her father grasped my

arm and said, “Good luck, she can be a handful, but I’m sure you can cope.”

To my surprise, as I helped her mother get into the car, she said, “Angela

certainly loves you. I’ve never seen her so happy!”

“William, darling,” said Angela, when we were alone in the flat, “my

mother says that we must take some precautions so that I don’t have a baby

too soon.”

I embraced her and kissed her ears, and then her neck, which I know

she loves, and she jumped into my arms with her legs widespread, and

whispered, “But I don’t want to wait, darling!”

“Tell me, sweetheart,” I asked later as we lay naked together under the

duvet on the bed, “what do you do for a living?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m a contract window dresser,” she said, and kissed me with her eyes

wide open to see if I was laughing.

“What does that mean?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Well, you know,” she relaxed as she spoke, “the big departments

stores have their own window dressers, and they contract with us to do

special displays, but this weekend we did not have a contract, which is

why I’m here with you and loving every moment of being close to you and

loving you.”

I held her tight. I was also falling in love with her, if not already, as we

kissed one another.

“I understand,” I said a bit lamely, “so sometimes I might see you

working in a window of a big store?”

She turned to face me and draped one leg over me, and her hard nipples

pressed against my chest.

“Yes, we do some window work, but the stores usually have their own

staff to do that, and they usually work at night, so we do displays within the

main stores when the store is open during the day, and we work as the live

models.”

“What a wonderful idea,” I said and kissed her, “when can I see you

working? It must be a bit like acting.”

“The first job we did was for kitchen equipment, which we had to

demonstrate, so that also meant we had to dress up and put on enough


makeup to last all day,” and she took a breath and held me tight to her, “but

the store manager realized that most of the customers were more interested

in us, the models, than the equipment we were demonstrating.”

“So he gave us a new contract in the ladies’ fashion department!”

“How many of you are there?”

“About ten altogether, but some of us take time off if we have important

things to do, like getting married or having babies, as I will be doing soon.”

“Are you going to wait for me to ask you to marry me, or are you going

to ask me?” I asked.

“I’ll wait, but don’t be surprised if I keep on reminding you.”

I laughed, so she said, “You don’t have to ask my father’s permission,”

she giggled, “as I think he understands why I am living here with you, and

I know that he and Mum might have had similar problems when they first

met in Delhi.”

“Where does your mother come from?” I continued with a new train

of thought.

“Let me start at the beginning.” She put her hand on my stomach and

moved it down to my flaccid penis.

“You’d better get a move on, sweetheart, or I’ll never hear the end of

this story!” I said as my penis enlarged.

She removed her hand and kissed me.

“My grandfather was an Army officer in the days of the Raj, and he was

stationed in the Punjab not so far from Lahore.”

“Several of the junior Indian subalterns in his regiment were Sikhs, and

my grandmother was a younger sister of one of them.”

“Grandfather met her when he was visiting one of the subalterns, and

she always told me she fell in love with this tall Englishman immediately,

and she believed he did with her.”

“They had to be a bit secretive about their relationship, so my

grandmother appointed herself the “cleaner” to this soldier, so that she

could live with him and love him secretly.”

“It was not long before she became pregnant, and grandfather arranged

with a local Catholic priest to marry them, also secretly.” Angela raised her

body to lie on top of me.

“My mother was their second child, so she is half Sikh and half English.”

Angela continued the story in spite of other distractions, as I put my hands

on her lovely bottom to hold her close to me.

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story?” she demanded half-heartedly

as she wriggled her pubis on my groin.


“We’ll have to limit the sex during the week or neither of us will ever

get to work,” I suggested, but she wasn’t listening.

She sat up and moved a bit down the bed so that my erect penis was

close to her pubis and her clitoris. She held my penis against her vagina and

gently lowered herself onto it, all the way.

“It’s getting cold,” I complained, and she lay on my chest, pressing her

hard nipples against me. I pulled the covers over us. She moved her legs

alongside my own, and then closed them.

Wow!

Her vagina was already wet and hot, and her closed legs made it very

tight, but I valiantly lifted her bottom, and then rolled over in the bed so that

I was on top. The duvet came with us.

“Open your legs, sweetheart,” I breathed, and as she did, she wrapped

them around my legs, not my waist, so that I could not move away.

“Gently,” I said quietly, and we moved in unison.

“Can people hear me if I scream?” she asked.

“Go ahead, it doesn’t matter if they do!”

Angela quivered around me, her climax starting. She screamed in

delight and increased the tempo so that my own ejaculation started almost

immediately. I grunted and thrust harder, and she kissed me several times.

We lay entwined for several minutes, but as my eyelids felt heavy, I

rolled partially sideways. Angela kissed me again, and we slept holding one

another.

In the morning, I awoke first. My kiss woke her, and she escaped under

my arms to go to the bathroom, running naked to the door. She walked

slowly back to the bed, cupping her breasts in her hands.

“Do you think they’re bigger today?”

I sat up and reached for her, pulling her under the duvet.

“They’re the most beautiful breasts in the world.” I kissed her, and

moved my head down to kiss both breasts. They did appear to be a bit firmer

to my touch, and she held my face close to them.

“That’s never happened before,” she admitted, “do you think I’m

already pregnant, William?”

“It’s only two days since we met and made love, so that’s unlikely,”

I was loving her more and more, “but if you like, we can get a testing kit

today.”

She smiled her agreement.

“Right,” I commanded and sat up in bed, “shower, breakfast, and

shopping center in that order, remembering to get dressed along the way.”


Chapter Four

Not Out!

We walked hand in hand down from my flat down to the shopping

center, and I guided Angela to the nearest pharmacy.

“Pregnancy Test Kit, please,” I asked the shop assistant, smiling.

“Do you want to use it now, or take away?” asked the assistant.

“Both, please.” I smiled at Angela.

The assistant showed Angela where the lavatory was, and asked for a

sample of urine. She gave her a small glass beaker.

It took about five minutes for Angela to come back with the jar,

containing some yellow urine. The assistant took it away and came back

quite soon, shaking her head. “Sorry, not yet,” she said.

Angela held my hand.

The shop assistant held out a small box with what looked like several

white plastic straws or sticks in it. I paid for both, and we left the shop. The

assistant had given me the address of the Family Planning Clinic, which I

put in my pocket.

“Sweetheart, we’ll just have to try again.” I grinned.

Angela laughed, and said, “And again, please, darling!”

We walked slowly back to my flat, and I bought some Sunday papers

on the way. Angela had been looking around the shop and came holding a

magazine on mothers and babies, which she handed to me. I paid for it, and

we walked home. Angela was very thoughtful as we walked.

“Do you really want a baby, sweetheart?” I asked as I held her hand.

“Yours, definitely. Please, darling, you’ll just have to try harder!”

“I think my cycle will be coming around, maybe tomorrow, darling,”

she told me, “so be ready for my mood swings.”

“We’ve got steak for dinner, which I bought yesterday,” I said, changing

the subject, “can you cook?”

“Of course, I was a demonstrator, don’t forget!”

“When is your next contract?” I asked as I opened the front door.

“Tomorrow.” Then she mentioned the name of a large department store


on Oxford Street.

“I’d forgotten to give you a key to the door, sweetheart.” I handed her

one of the three front door keys I had, and I showed her where I put the third

key in a kitchen cupboard.

She turned to kiss me. “I do love you,” she said and went to the bathroom

with the box of pregnancy test kits.

I was peeling potatoes when she came back to the kitchen.

She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “Yes, definitely negative.”

“How many children do you want?”

“When I’m pregnant, do we have to stop having sex?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so, but that magazine you bought will probably tell

you.”

She looked at me wistfully. “I’m twenty-two now, so that gives me

eighteen years before I’m forty, so one child every two years means nine,

please, William!”

“I never asked you,” she said, “how old are you?”

“I was thirty at my last birthday, so I’ll be forty-eight when you have

the ninth baby!”

She kissed me, and said, “You know, I was joking about nine, didn’t

you?”

I could not help it, so I looked concerned and said, “Really?” But I

didn’t have enough self-control to stop my smile.

She put her arms round my neck and said, “Before I’m moody or

cranky next week, you’ve got your work cut out, darling.” She took hold of

my hand to take me to the bedroom.

“The steak will burn!” I pleaded. “Then I won’t have any energy!”

She let go of my hand but smiled, so I knew she had plans for something

later on.

“Two days ago I was a simple virgin, and in that time, you’ve turned

me into a raving sex maniac.” She pouted as if complaining, but she kissed

me.

“Sweetheart, we’ve got steak and mashed potatoes, and salad, but not

as good as the salad your mother gave us yesterday.” I handed her knives

and forks to lay the table.

“Let me see the salad.” She gave me back the knives and forks. We

would be sitting at the breakfast bar between the kitchen and the sitting

room, so I laid the table myself, as Angela rebuilt my salad, and it was worth

the wait.

I gave her a glass of pink wine with the steak, not a rosé. The wine


came from a vineyard in California, and had been designed for eating with

red meat.

She stared at me as she ate her lunch.

“Where did you get your long straight nose from?” she asked. “You

could be a Sikh.” She touched her own nose. Then I realized it was her long

thin nose that made her face so beautiful.

We finished eating, and Angela stood and held my hand.

“We can wash up later,” she commanded.

She lay fully clothed on the bed and looked at me. I stood watching her,

and my love for her grew.

“Undress me, please, William.” She still commanded me.

I knelt on the bed and lifted the skirt of her dress, and took off her tights

and panties, which I dropped on the floor. Laughing, I put the skirt back

over her legs.

She laughed too, and sat up in bed, and pulled me down to her.

“Sweetheart,” I started, “I want to make love to you every time I look

at you, but we can’t do it all the time, so now let’s make love very slowly,

and make it last as long as possible?”

She kissed me.

We only got out of bed that afternoon to go to the bathroom, or to make

some tea in the kitchen. The washing up had to wait until evening.

She told me she liked being on top of me, and so we tried to make her

reach her climax that way, with my penis deep inside her tight vagina. It

worked once but then passion took over, and we frantically pressed into one

another, our skin slapping and slick with sweat, to reach an orgasm together.

We spent a lot of time sleeping naked together, and never far from one

another under the duvet.

In the morning, we both had to get up early to go to work. I shaved

whilst Angela made tea, and she also did the washing up from yesterday,

which we had forgotten. We showered together, cleaning one another with

some liquid soap, and then after we had dried each other, Angela shooed me

out of the bathroom whilst she did her hair. She looked wonderful when she

came back to the bedroom. She had brushed her hair with a light oil, and

then wound it on the back of her head in a small net. Her makeup was now

perfect, but she was wearing only a wraparound gown.

I was already dressed to go to work, but I hesitated and kissed her. She

dressed quickly, and we left the flat together, but a bit late.

I showed her the bus station, and we rode together into town. Angela

got off the bus not too far from Oxford Street, and I went on to Fleet Street.


As I got out of the bus, I looked up like I always did at the dome of St Paul’s

Cathedral and the thin spire of St Martin’s in the front of it, as I walked

along Fleet Street.

My office was on Farringdon Street, where the company occupied the

whole building. I idly wondered, as I walked through the front gate, what

must be the cost of maintaining this old building, and then I walked up the

stone stairs to my office on the second floor.

I spent all morning dealing with the backlog of the problems raised by

my team of editors, often very similar. Very few of them knew one another,

as they were scattered all over the country, indeed the world.

I have a young man who works as my assistant, his name is Paul, and

I persuaded him to bring me a sandwich for lunch. My form of persuasion

was usually to offer to pay for his sandwich.

“Do you think you could ask the accounts department to give you totals

for the cost of maintenance of this building, Paul?” I asked as we ate the

sandwiches together.

“Why do you want to know that?”

“The profit we make from our books is used to cover the costs of our

salaries, productions costs, overheads, and maintenance costs, and I just

wondered how much that was, and maybe you could calculate how much

that would be for each book we sell?”

I knew Paul would enjoy this errand as there was a pretty girl in the

accounts department that he fancied. He grinned and set off.

Last week I had prepared a schedule of all the costs relating to editing,

proofing, and printing costs, and wanted to compare these to the costs of

overheads and maintenance. I had intended to do some work on those figures

over the weekend, but that plan had been derailed in one of the nicest ways

possible—an angel called Angela.

One of the editors, based in Hong Kong, had suggested that we might

look at printing costs in Asia. Modern printing techniques in black and

white merely required an edited copy, and the computer program would do

the rest, galley proofs, page size, and a color cover printed on either a glossy

paper or even plain white paper to keep the costs down.

On a six-by-nine-inch book size the average would be about two hundred

pages, and the female editor had also sent me the name of an organization

that could give me some idea of costs.

I had a meeting with my boss in the afternoon, and we spoke mainly

about new novels being produced, in both print and e-book formats. He

mentioned briefly the concerns of the finance department on production


costs, but we mutually agreed to leave that to the next meeting of the finance

group, on Friday morning.

Paul came back to my office about three in the afternoon, looking a

bit flushed, so either his meeting with the girl in accounts had gone well or

badly.

“They’re struggling hard to keep the costs down to one million, of

which about half is rates and taxes,” he reported, and handed me a folded

piece of paper with the figures written for the last three years in feminine

handwriting. I put it in my top drawer.

As I did this, the paper unfolded itself and opened flat. The same

feminine handwriting said “X, love Rosie.” It was mean of me not to tell

Paul, just then.

In the evening, I skipped the pub and got back to my flat before Angela,

and started to prepare some food for both of us in the kitchen. I’m not a

great cook, but I have learned to cook a few things well.

Angela arrived about six thirty and flopped into a chair exhausted. To

make matters worse, it had started to rain, so she was wet and tired.

I kissed her and helped her take off her wet clothes, and she rewarded

me with a most wonderful smile. Her makeup stayed perfect, but her hair

was a bit windblown.

“Tea or a glass of wine, sweetheart?”

“I think I need the wine to warm me up.” She smiled again.

Just then the telephone rang, and I answered it.

“Can I speak to Angela, please,” said a man with a strange accent.

I passed her the phone, and she listened, made a few comments and

made a few notes on a pad near the phone.

“An Indian boutique would like us to do some modelling this weekend,”

she announced.

The phone rang again, but this time it was her mother, and they must

have chatted for thirty minutes. I heard comments from Angela, like:

“He’s fit and well; no I’m not, we had a test; I think later this week; and

so on.”

By this time the Bolognaise sauce I had been cooking was more than

ready. It almost held the wooden spoon upright in the pan, and I could smell

the strong tomato base.

“Hungry, sweetheart?”

She walked to me, put her arms round my neck and kissed me, and then

she stood on tiptoes to kiss my nose.

“I must be the luckiest woman in the world!” she breathed on my neck.


I wanted to hold her tight and make mad passionate love to her just

there and then, but I resisted by saying, “I’ll have to cook the spaghetti!”

She did not let go of me so I could not move.

“I love spaghetti bolognaise, darling, how did you know?”

I showed my hand without flinching. “I love you so much, I just

guessed! But you’ll have to do the salad, please.”

She gasped, kissed me again, and then after letting go of me, she danced

to the kitchen to prepare the salad.

“Daddy told me that you loved me,” she said over her shoulder as she

worked, “but how did he know?”

Then she gasped and turned to look at me. “Oh, my gosh, did you let

him win the tennis match on purpose?”

“Your father’s a very strong player,” I defended myself, and then

changed the subject. “Dinner’s ready, sweetheart.”

I had not mixed the Bolognaise sauce and the spaghetti, as some

restaurants do, but let her serve herself. As always, the parmesan cheese

added to the flavor of the meal. She had decided to sit opposite me at the

breakfast bar, so that we could look at one another, which was very effective

for cementing our relationship.

Her salad made the meal, and I could smell in it some of the herbs that

her mother had used.

She suddenly looked up at me a bit startled.

“I’m so sorry, darling, I completely forgot to ask you what happened in

your work today.”

I grinned to indicate OK, and then asked, “Tea or coffee, sweetheart?”

“I would prefer tea, with milk and sugar, please.”

I packed away the plates and put the remains of the Bolognaise sauce

in the fridge. Washing up was easy to do as I waited for the kettle to boil

for the tea.

Angela was hovering, and had not sat in a chair as I expected.

I put two mugs of tea on the breakfast bar. She took one and sat opposite

me, nursing the mug in her hands, fidgeting and shifting her gaze. I could

see that she had a problem on her mind.

“Darling,” she started, “I think that my period will be starting tonight

or tomorrow, and you might find me difficult to live with for a few days.”

I leaned over the bar and kissed her.

“I can’t imagine ever not wanting to live with you, but I need to recharge

my batteries as well, sweetheart, and look, please don’t do anything if it’s

going to make you uncomfortable. But I’ll still want to hug and kiss you. Is


that OK?”

“It’s going to be the pain I sometimes get that worries me, darling.

Have you got anything like aspirin?”

“I think there’s some acetaminophen in the bathroom cupboard,” I said,

and got up to go and see.

I had to laugh, the bathroom cupboard which previously had only the

packet of aspirin, Dettol and spare razor blades, was now crammed with

bottles and jars! She had taken over my bathroom. I found the soluble

acetaminophen hidden at the back of the top shelf, and took it back to

Angela.

“Thanks, darling.” She smiled.

I stood behind her, so I put my arms around her but made sure not to

hold her too tightly.


Chapter Five

A New Bowler

A new day.

We had both slept well, lying very close together, naked except for the

panties that Angela decided to wear at the last minute, in case.

As soon as she woke, she put her hands on her vagina, but nothing had

happened, and she smiled at me.

“We could have made love last night, darling.”

“I told you before I want to make love to you every time I look at you,

so it’s good training for me just to look at you and hold you tight.”

We showered together, and of course I got excited, my penis growing

hard, and Angela kissed it in the shower and then looking at it, told it sternly

to wait a few days! I had to laugh, but I loved her all the more.

After breakfast I went to the office, but Angela stayed in the flat. She

told me she wanted to talk to her mother later in the morning.

At lunchtime I walked down to Fleet Street, and into a small jewelry

shop at the Strand end of the street. The conversation went something like

this:

“Good morning, sir,” said a smart assistant.

“I’m planning to get married, and I’d like to see some engagement

rings, please.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

He reached under the counter and placed a tray of sparkling rings on

the counter.

“Is it possible to get something that would match her brown/green

eyes?”

In the back of the shop, the manager had been watching me and now

he came forward.

“Garnet is a very attractive gem, sir,” said the manager, taking a new

tray of rings with sparkling green stones out from under the counter. There

were only a few rings there.

“A green garnet is quite rare, sir, and you can have a single stone, or


surround it with small diamonds.”

“I’ll have to ask you about costs,” I admitted.

He pointed to the largest stone, which did sparkle at me, and said,

“This is priced at seven hundred and fifty, and we could fit a circle of small

diamonds for about two fifty?” He was testing me.

“How long would it take to fit the circle of diamonds?”

The manager looked at his watch and said, “We could probably get it

done by the end of this week.”

I played for time. “Are these stones all sold by weight?” I asked.

“Yes, sir, of course, and we would give you a certificate of authenticity

and weight of each of the stones in carats.”

“Could you tell me the ring size of the lady, please, sir?”

“I want my proposal to be a bit of a surprise,” I said lamely.

“Might I suggest, sir, that you ask her to borrow an existing ring, or

even ask her mother for a sample for us to measure.”

Ingenious, I thought.

“Can the ring size come later?”

The manager smiled. “Of course, sir, but we’ll need a day’s notice.” He

reached for a small plastic bag and placed the bright green stone in the bag.

“What is your name, sir?” I told him, and he wrote it on the bag with a

felt-tip pen, “and how many diamonds would you like?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Well, sir, you could have two, one on either side of the garnet, or five

or seven. I’d recommend seven as that makes a better circle.”

“OK, seven, then,” I agreed, but took a deep breath.

“And the ring itself?”

“Oh, gold please.”

The manager wrote another note on the plastic bag.

“I would recommend that you pay about fifty pounds for each diamond,

sir, and we could do it all for one thousand one hundred, and we won’t

charge you for the fitting.” He mentioned the number of carats, but I forgot.

I grinned.

“OK, sold, do you want a deposit?”

“Please, sir,” said the manager, and he said something to his assistant.

The assistant had been listening and came forward with a handwritten

sales slip, which he handed to his manager. The sales slip had my name, a

short description of the ring, the stones and the price.

“Do you work nearby, sir?” asked the manager, and I told him the name

of the publishing company.


“Would you mind paying us one hundred pounds as the deposit?”

I nodded and handed him my Visa card, taking a deep breath.

That was that. I was virtually committed! I put the receipt he gave me

in my jacket pocket and returned to the office.

Then I suddenly remembered, in my euphoria, I had forgotten to tell

my parents about Angela and our impending engagement. Everything had

happened so quickly. So instead of having lunch, I called my father who

was at home.

“Hi Dad, is Mum there?”

“No, she’s in the Preston General, today.”

“Are you OK?” asked my father.

“Yes, Dad, I’m getting engaged, and I wanted to tell you both.”

“Excellent. You must bring her to see us.”

“Yes, but this weekend she’s working, but I could manage next weekend.

We could come up by train on Saturday and go back on Sunday afternoon.”

“Call your mother and tell her,” instructed my father.

“Hang on, Dad. How are you?”

My father evaded the direct question, and said, “I’ve just finished

another watercolor. I’ll show you when you get here.”

We ended our call and then I remembered another task I had to do, but

I was running short of funds.

Before leaving the office early, I told Paul to call me at home that

evening if there was any emergency. He grinned but looked a bit sheepish.

“What’s the matter?”

“Rosie, from accounts, has agreed to come on a date with me tonight.”

“Good luck and behave yourself. If necessary, sit on your hands.” We

both laughed.

After leaving the office, I went to the nearest Mobile Phone shop on

the corner of Fleet and Farringdon Streets. The shop assistant showed me

several very expensive mobile phones, but I wanted just a simple model, so

I pointed to one under the glass-topped counter.

“That’s just a basic Nikon,” he said contemptuously, “and it only makes

and receives calls.”

“Just what I want,” I said, “but I want two.”

He woke up then and took out two small boxes, and then hunted under

the counter for SIM cards, I learned later.

“What numbers would you like?” he asked, and showed me the

available ones. I chose two and asked him to show me how to put other

peoples’ numbers into the device. He selected a name called ‘Contacts,’ and


typed in a number.

“That’s my number,” he said, and then he typed in his name, Rajah.

“Now put the first number into one and the second number in the

other, please.” I was getting a bit exasperated, but he probably worked on

commission and wanted me to buy more expensive models.

What name shall I give them?”

“Angela on that one,” I said, “and William on the other.”

“Which package would you like?” He hadn’t mentioned that before.

“Well the phone and the SIM card alone is only twenty pounds, and that

will include some call time, but you really need to pay for extra call time,”

he explained. “Shall I put ten pounds into each?”

He was getting more helpful by the minute.

“When you run out of call time, come back here and I can put in

additional time.”

I paid and left carrying the two small boxes. I’d never had a need for a

mobile phone before, and I’d never seen Angela with one, but now we could

contact one another anytime.

That evening I got back to the flat before Angela. I thought she might

be feeling a bit depressed, so I carefully wrapped her new mobile phone in

some Christmas paper and set it conspicuously on the breakfast bar with her

name on the outside.

I hunted around to get the number for Preston General Hospital, and

phoned and asked to speak to my mother. She was now a consultant in her

own right and was no longer attached to any one hospital.

I did not have long to wait.

“William,” she shouted excitedly down the line, “what is she like, when

are we going to meet her, your father said next weekend, and finally how

are you?” My father had obviously beaten me to it and told her my news.

“She’s beautiful, and lovely to look at, and…”

“I’m so pleased, your father and I were getting a bit worried about

grandchildren. What do her parents do, have you met them?”

“We had lunch with them last Saturday. Her father is a retired diplomat,

and they live near Wimbledon.”

“How about a photograph before you get here?”

“Yes, Mum, I’ll see what I can do,” I said resignedly.

Just then Angela came into the flat, and I told her I had now told my

parents we were going to get married.

“You haven’t asked me yet,” she warned, and then she saw the giftwrapped

box on the breakfast bar.


She pounced on it and tore the wrapping off, and then opened the box

and took out the small mobile phone. I carefully pressed the send button on

mine. She almost dropped it when it buzzed in her hand, but she saw my

name in the screen as the caller, so she pressed the receive button.

“Hello,” she said into the phone.

“Can I speak to Angela, please?”

“Never heard of Angela,” she teased, “any rate, she’s no longer

available, as she’s just about to get engaged to be married!”

She looked at me, and my heart boomed with my love for her. She was

the same beautiful Angela I first met, but now not so serene, and shining

with love and excitement.

She danced across the floor and kissed me but evaded my hands when

I tried to hold her. Angela teased me excellently, twirling just out of my

range.

“I feel better now, darling,” she announced, but we’ll have to wait until

the end of the week to resume our childmaking!”

“There’s no such word,” I protested.

“We’ve only just started, darling.” She smiled at me.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I was going to bake a pie, but I was a bit busy,” I pleaded.

“What sort of pie?”

“I took some meat out of the freezer, and I thought if I wrapped it in a

pastry, it would be delicious.”

“Can I do the cooking, darling?” It was she who pleaded this time with

her wonderful eyes, and I immediately resigned, and opened the cupboard

to take out a bottle of wine.

She had brought with her several small jars all labeled with the names

of Indian spices, and chilies.

She hummed as she worked and within about thirty minutes, she put

three plates on the breakfast bar with steaming contents. One plate contained

two large green capsicums, in a thin yellow sauce; the next had several

small meat balls in another sauce, and a bowl of white rice.

I handed her a glass of cold wine, and sat down opposite her.

She had given me a spoon and fork to use to eat the delicious food. The

capsicum amazed me most as it was soft and I could cut it with the side of

my spoon, but the sauce made me gasp. She immediately saw that and went

to the fridge and passed me a small bowl of yogurt and a teaspoon.

I was just about to shout, “Water,” but she stopped me.

I ate a single spoon of the yogurt and the heat in my mouth and throat


simply disappeared. The meatballs weren’t hot, but maybe even a bit sweet,

and they melted in my mouth.

“Wow,” I said.

She packed the plates away, smiled at me, and came to hold my hand.

“Let’s sit,” she suggested.

I sat at one end of the sofa, and Angela sat close to me with her legs

on the cushions. I put my arm around her, and she leaned close to me, and

placed her spare hand on my leg. Her eyes sparkled as if she knew she was

teasing me, but that was part of my attraction to her.

“You’re working this weekend, aren’t you?”

“Yes, darling, can you come and watch?”

“Of course, where?”

“The Head Office of the firm is in the City, but their main branch is in

Ealing, where we’re going to do the presentation.”

“Can you make sure that you’re free the weekend after?”

She lifted her head to kiss me.

“Yes, of course, where are we going?”

“Manchester,” I said. “We’ll go there by train on Saturday morning,

and come back here on Sunday afternoon.”

“Good, I’ll like that. Tell me again, what do your parents do?” she

asked.

“My dad used to run his own printing firm, but they specialized in book

printing, which is how I got into publishing as my company was one of his

customers.” I paused.

“He sold the company to a big conglomerate when I was at college, and

then he sold the family house, and now he and my mother live in a small

village not far from Preston in Lancashire.”

“My mother’s a doctor and has specialized in gynecology and obstetrics,

and now she’s a consultant gynecologist, and works in several hospitals in

and around Preston.”

“Have you got brothers and sisters?” Angela snuggled up to me on the

sofa.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“Tell me again, please, darling.”

“My sister is two years younger than me, and she wanted to become a

doctor like Mum, but when she started training, she changed to radiology,

and she works for a company in Manchester that make a whole range of

machines for hospitals and laboratories.”

“No, you didn’t tell me before.” She kissed me.


I hugged her, and she looked up at me.

“Why did I choose you?” she asked wistfully.

“Have you got a problem?” I kissed her upturned nose.

“Yes, if I had my way, we’d never get up and go to work. We’d just hold

one another all day long, and send out for meals!”

“Sexy beast!”


Chapter Six

Wicket!

We did not go to bed immediately. In the bedroom Angela had been

organizing her clothes, some of which were scattered all over the bed. I had

built-in cupboards all along one wall, and I noticed that my clothes had been

squeezed into one small section at the end, and the section of the cupboards

with shelves, for my underclothes, had been taken over completely!

“We need some more drawers, sweetheart, don’t we?” I mentioned as

I helped her to hang up her remaining clothes. “And some more hangers!”

“We could put a chest of drawers under that window, couldn’t we,

darling?” she suggested. She was right as I had not bothered to buy more

furniture than I needed, but now I suddenly needed a lot more.

“Let’s see what we can find this weekend,” I suggested, amazed at how

many of her clothes had suddenly appeared in my bedroom, but they gave

the room a greater feeling of warmth and love, so I kissed her again.

I left the flat before Angela in the morning, and went straight to my

office. I stood for a moment in the road, looking at the building with white

sandstone and red bricks. A man in a bowler hat stood near me. He smiled

as he watched me cross the road and go in.

Paul was late, and apologized, but he looked a bit flustered.

I had a sudden thought. “Where do you live, Paul?”

“I used to share a room with an Australian friend near to Cromwell

Road, but it was a bit grotty, so when he left, I managed to get a cleaner

room with a family near Kew Gardens. Why do you ask?”

“If we moved this office from the City, do you think that somewhere

like Gunnersbury Park would be good location?”

“I think most of the people in this office would be very pleased, as most

of us come from the western areas of London and have to travel to work

every day,” and he paused, “maybe one or two come from the East End, but

not many.”

“So where did you come from before you came to work in London?”

“Southampton, didn’t I tell you before?” then he added with a smile,


“Rosie and I will be going there to meet my parents this weekend.” Paul

suddenly blushed and put his hand over his mouth.

I had to laugh and said, “I wondered why you looked a bit sheepish this

morning. It sounds like your date was successful!”

Paul and I managed to finalise a lot of new editions that day, which

almost brought us up-to-date.

I was a bit late leaving the office, but the roads were clearer, and Angela

was there when I got back to the flat.

I opened the front door to find her wearing a saree, and quite honestly,

she looked fabulous. I kissed her and then noticed there was another lady

in the flat.

“This is Zeenat, and she is part of our window dressing team,” Zeenat

was also dressed in a saree, but her skin was darker than Angela’s, so I

guessed she was more Indian than my beautiful Angela. Both of their sarees

were in dark colors. Angela’s was mainly green and Zeenat’s was blue and

dark red, and each had gold fabric woven into the end that was draped over

their shoulders.

“Zeenat’s mother comes from Gujarat,” explained Angela, “and we

stopped here for a drink on our way back from rehearsals.”

“I think that I’m going to enjoy your demonstration on Saturday, if

you’re all as lovely as you two.”

Angela pouted, so I kissed her and whispered, “but not as beautiful as

you,” and she smiled, thank goodness.

“Can Zeenat stay to eat with us?” I volunteered.

“Sorry, she has to get back to her family in Edgware,” Angela said

immediately. It was Zeenat who looked disappointed.

“We’ll have to change first.” Both ladies disappeared into the bedroom

and shut the door.

It took five minutes before Angela came back into the sitting room, and

I made a point of holding her and kissing her.

“What are we eating tonight?” I asked.

“Do you mind a takeaway?” asked Angela, as Zeenat came out of the

bedroom. Both ladies looked fabulous, but I noticed that Zeenat was a few

inches shorter than Angela. Zeenat took a small holdall in her hand and the

two left the flat, with Angela returning a few minutes later.

“Chinese?” I asked.

“No, darling, I only said takeaway so that Zeenat would not want to

stay!”

“You are not only beautiful, but also a lovely schemer,” I said and


kissed her, holding her close to me.

“So what have we got?” I asked, still holding her.

“Come and see,” she said and wriggled out of my arms.

She opened the fridge and showed me a range of plates with small

pieces of food on them, and then she opened the oven to show me a bowl of

a sauce, which tasted like lemon-flavored chili.

“I’m hungry.” I sat at the breakfast bar, leaving Angela in the kitchen.

I loved teasing her.

Angela moved the plates from the fridge to the bar. She had to stoop a

bit to lift the bowl from the oven, and as she emerged, her face level with

the bar, I said, “Who are you? The new cleaner?”

Her smile was worth the tease, and I realized again how absolutely

beautiful she was. It must have shown on my face, as she came out of the

kitchen and kissed me, allowing me to hold her tight and close.

It was several minutes before I let go.

The food was delicious, and she gave me a fork and a plate, so that I

could spear a piece of the food, dip it into the bowl of sauce, and eat it.

I left the kitchen and sat on the sofa. She brought me a mug of hot sweet

tea, which both cleaned my mouth, and reduced the aftertaste of lemon and

chili. Angela sat next to me, spreading her lovely legs on the sofa.

“How was work?” She looked up at me.

“We finished a lot of new editions,” I started to say, “but have you ever

read any of our books?”

She kissed me and stood, walking across the room to her canvas bag

on the floor. It looked as if it was heavy, and I started to get up, but she told

me to sit down.

Angela put the bag on the floor at my feet and sat next to me again.

She looked pointedly at the bag on the floor so I opened it, and it was full

of books, mainly paperbacks, and about half published by us. All the books

were about romance with pictures of handsome men, often doctors or

soldiers, and lovely ladies on the covers.

“It looks like you’re one of our best customers, sweetheart.”

“Mum brought these here today and left them by the front door as I

wasn’t here, and another bag of my clothes, darling.”

I laughed aloud and embraced her.

In our bedroom the two sarees were laid out on the bed, and Angela

hustled around to fold them carefully with tissue paper and pack them into

a large suitcase on the floor. We got undressed and into bed and held one

another close. My penis would not stop getting hard, but eventually we went


to sleep, with Angela’s head on my shoulder and her leg draped over me.

I got up before Angela in the morning, shaved, and began to cook an

egg for my breakfast. She came into the sitting room wearing my dressing

gown, and looking a bit bedraggled.

I walked across to her, held and kissed her, and she said nothing, only

smiled at me. Her stomach pains had worsened in the night, but she had

not woken me to tell me, as it was her problem, but she knew she had my

sympathy.

“I’ll be alright, darling, go to work.” She shooed me out of the front

door. I sat on the bus thinking, but picked up my mobile phone and dialed

the number of Angela’s parents’ house. Her mother answered.

I told her about the engagement ring, and she immediately told me the

ring size. I did not know that ring sizes were a standard, but I should have

guessed. She agreed not to tell Angela, and I’m certain she didn’t. I told her

we were going to meet my parents next weekend.

I stood at the edge of the road again looking at the company building,

and the man in the bowler hat was there again and smiled at me.

“Which department are you?” he asked, so I told him editing, and we

walked across Farringdon Street together, as the traffic allowed. We went

into the building, and I suddenly realized that he also worked there. He took

the lift to the top floor, management, whilst I walked up two flights of stairs

to my office.

As I opened the door, Rosie scrambled to leave, and Paul stood by the

window with a red face. I smiled and sat at my desk.

I started to write, and listed my proposals for cost cutting. The meeting

was tomorrow morning, Friday. My biggest concern was quality control.

We had built a good reputation with our brand name, and had developed a

steady stream of customers, including Angela. Our books were well priced

in the market, and if we suddenly changed our editors, we might lose quality,

as we would have to train the new ones.

I tried to apportion the overhead costs against each book, and found

that I had to keep the costs in book categories and genres, not individual

books. But if I allowed fifty pence against each e-book, then the paperbacks

would be at least one pound each to absorb such overheads.

Printing costs were growing I had to admit, but new technology limited

these increases. If we printed overseas then we might get the printing costs

down to two dollars, but then the shipping costs might be high enough

to bring the final costs just about level with local printing costs. I called

my father on my new mobile phone, and asked him to make a note of my


number, and he told me from his memory and experience how the printing

costs were determined.

I had lunch with Paul in a pub on Fleet Street, but he did not concentrate

on what I was saying. Apparently his relationship with Rosie was growing

apace. I could sympathize with him.

I walked on to the jewelry shop at the end of the road.

“Here’s the ring size that I was given by my fiancée’s mother.”

The manager smiled. “She has lovely slim fingers, I’ll have the ring

ready for you by tomorrow afternoon, sir,” he confirmed.

I now had to plan how to propose marriage to Angela. I wanted it to be

fairly dramatic, but I did not have an inkling of how to do that.

Back in the office, I prepared my notes for the finance meeting tomorrow.

Paul came in just as I was leaving.

“Boss,” he said, “Rosie told me that rental costs of industrial or

commercial in and around West London have come off their peak due to an

oversupply,” and he added, “she knows as her father is an Estate Agent.”

“What sort of costs?”

“He told me that you could get a new property for about ten pounds a

square foot, so ten thousand feet would be only a hundred K!”

“How much have we got here?”

“About ten thousand square feet, or maybe a bit more, but the layout is

not very cost efficient.”

“Where did you learn all this?”

“Rosie took me back to meet her parents last night.”

I had to laugh.

“Well done, Paul, you might have saved the day!”

I went back to the flat in an ebullient mood. Angela was asleep in our

bedroom, so I left her alone and crept into the kitchen.

One thing I like is short crust pastry, so I took some out of the freezer

section and left it to thaw. I also took about three hundred grams of minced

beef and put that next to the frozen pastry.

I chopped some onions, crushed some ginger, and mixed them into the

minced beef as it thawed, with some ground black pepper.

I bullied the pastry into thawing quickly, and then rolled out about half

the packet into small very thin circles. I put about a tablespoonful of the

meat into the center of each pastry circle, there were seven, and at the last

minute added a teaspoon of frozen peas. Now came the crunch!

I folded the pastry circles into squares, similar to samosas, except they

are three sided, and laid them carefully on a baking tray. The oven had been


preheated, and I put them in.

I then started to prepare a salad, hoping that Angela would be awake

soon to do the finishing touches. I did not prepare any potatoes or rice.

Angela must have woken up and came out of the bathroom as I was

working, and she put her arms around me. I smelled the toothpaste on her

breath.

“Something smells good,” she said.

I turned around, hugged her tight, and kissed her neck.

“Ten minutes more, sweetheart, can you work your magic on the salad?”

She did not move but lifted her face to be kissed, again.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” she said.

“You don’t have to rush, we’ve got twenty years, don’t forget,” and she

smiled, remembering her previous calculation.

“Tomorrow I’ve got a bit of an important meeting at work, and I’d like

to take you out to dinner,” I said.

“Do you mind if some of my team come with us?” She looked at me.

“No, that would be great. How many?”

“About twelve, and us, but they’ll share the cost, as we start our

demonstration in the Indian department store on Saturday morning.”

I began to think to myself that my plans were falling into place.

“Sit down and eat this,” I said, and gave her a glass of the cold rosé

wine from California.

I put a plate and a knife and fork in front of her, and took the pastries

out of the oven. They did smell good, and I hurriedly poured the salad in a

bowl.

“Samosas!” she cried.

“Taste them first, sweetheart.”

I was very lucky as the frozen short crust pastry had cooked to a crisp

texture.

“Use your fingers if it’s not too hot,” I suggested.

She picked one up, touching only the corners and took a bite. She could

not talk for a few seconds as she ate the piping hot pastry.

“Ginger!” she cried, “how wonderful.”

We ate them all, and I made sure that Angela ate half of them. I was

certain that she hadn’t eaten much that day, and she may have slept for most

of it.

We didn’t sit on the sofa that evening, but went to bed early. I closed

my eyes with Angela snuggled next to me.

I thought about tomorrow night…


Chapter Seven

End of the Innings

I left Angela sleeping in the morning and went to work early. The

meeting was at ten, so I had time to finalize my proposal with Paul’s help.

He also came to me with several property brochures which Rosie’s father

had given him. I put them in the back of my file.

As I went to the third floor, I was told that the meeting would be on the

fourth floor in the Boardroom. I was early, so I found a chair half way along

one side of the long polished table.

I was most surprised that the meeting was chaired by the man in the

bowler, but now without his hat. He smiled at me as he sat down. His name

was Martindale, and he was the Chairman of the Board, not the Managing

Director I was told, but he also came to the meeting and sat next to me.

My boss opened the meeting, and we carefully directed our conversation

towards the Chairman. He outlined the proposal from the finance department

to cut costs. Everyone looked at me:

“Mr. Chairman, I am most concerned about quality control. It has taken

me and my predecessors a long time to develop our team of editors and to

develop the House Rules we all work by. I must agree that reducing editors’

fees would reduce costs, but maybe also reduce the quality of our books.

“If you forgive me, I have been looking at other ways that we could

reduce costs, and much as we all enjoy working in this building where we’ve

been for over fifty years, perhaps we should consider moving to a newer

property outside the City, with lower overheads, and even lower taxes.”

I continued, “The value of this property is not for this meeting to

consider, and maybe the Board would like to stay here, but a new building

near to Osterley Park or even Gunnersbury Park would cost half of the

overheads of this lovely old building and give us twice as much space.”

The head of the Finance division spluttered, saying things like we

couldn’t consider moving out of the City of London, but after a minute or

two, the Chairman thanked him and decided to back to my proposal.

“Have you got any figures to support your ideas?”


“Yes, Mr. Chairman, many of us live in West London, and my assistant

managed to get these brochures yesterday evening.” I took out the papers

that Paul had given me earlier and passed them to the Chairman.

“I should mention,” said the Chairman, “that the Board has recently

received a firm proposal from an Overseas Bank that want to establish a

base in the City of London and they wanted to consider this old building for

their Head Office in Europe.”

“If we acted on your suggestion,” said the Chairman, and I was so

glad he didn’t say proposal, “how many of our staff would be adversely

affected?” The Head of Finance clutched the straw and said he’d contact

Personnel and find out.

“I think,” said the Chairman, “that we should shelve the idea of cuts

proposed for the editorial department,” and he nodded at my boss, not me

which was good. “But,” he continued, “I would like you all to consider

economies in your own departments that could be made, and I suggest we

reconvene in two weeks today, please.”

We all stood and I noticed that the Chairman put Paul’s property notes

in his folder when he left.

“Come and have a word with me please, William,” asked my boss, and

I followed him to his office on the third floor.

“A little bird told me that you are soon to get engaged,” he said.

“Congratulations, who is the lucky girl?”

I must admit I blushed. “Her name is Angela. She lives in Wimbledon

near to the All England Club, and her father is a retired diplomat, and as you

can appreciate, a tennis enthusiast.”

“Wedding?” he asked, but I shook my head.

“One more thing,” he added but was smiling, “don’t make these

proposals again without telling me.”

“We only thought about moving the office yesterday, when we were

thinking how to reduce costs, and Paul collected the property details only

last night. But, I agree, sorry, boss.”

“I spoke to your father yesterday who told me about your engagement.

You mustn’t forget that he was one of our major supplies of the printed

books before he retired.”

I smiled, and went back to my office, and told Paul what had happened.

“Your mobile phone has been ringing,” he said, “I answered it and told

the lady calling that you were in a meeting, and she asked me to tell you to

call her, but it was not urgent.”

I phoned Angela straight away.


“William, darling, the party for tonight has grown bigger, and there are

now about twenty of us all told, so we’re going to an Indian restaurant in

Ealing. Is that OK?”

“Sweetheart, that will be wonderful, and thanks.”

I set off straight away for the jewelry shop, and then remembered they

said Friday evening, so I went to a pub for a glass of beer and a sandwich.

The beer was excellent, but the sandwich was old and stale, so I only ate

half of it. I told the barman who apologized, but did not offer to refund my

money, and said that all the food in the pub was provided by an outside

caterer.

When I got back the office, I spoke with Paul.

“If you bought a book and found that some of the pages were missing,

who would you blame?”

“The bookshop or the publisher,” he said straight away.

“But it would probably have been the printer who was at fault,” I

explained.

“Yes, I understand, but the buyer has no access to the printer, do they?”

We both smiled as we remembered the law case of the snail in the

bottle, Donoghue v Stevenson, which we had all studied in college so long

ago.

“Buyer beware,” he said, and we laughed together.

“Oh, Paul, by the way, I gave those property details to the Chairman,”

and he nodded, while I continued, “so keep your finger on the pulse to see

if there are any further developments.”

“I’ll enjoy doing that,” he confessed, “as the property agent is Rosie’s

dad!”

That afternoon I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so I started to read

some new manuscripts that had just come in, and then suddenly I realized it

was past five o’clock.

I probably broke a minor record on my walk to the jewelry shop, but

the manager saw me arriving and immediately I opened the door.

He held a small box in his hand. It was dark green and hinged, and he

opened it as he came nearer to me. The ring positively sparkled.

It was set in a slot in a dark green felt background, but the color of the

green garnet outshone everything else. The diamonds around the garnet all

sparkled as he passed it to me. I took the ring out of the slot, and looked at

it, and suddenly realized how small her fingers were. It would only fit onto

the first digit of my index finger.

His assistant brought me the bill, and I handed over my Visa card.


Thank goodness I would be paid my salary before the train fare home next

weekend! A minute or two later, he brought me the payment slip to sign.

The manager handed me a certificate of authenticity and the weight

of all the stones, which he put into an envelope with the receipted bill, and

gave me the envelope and the precious box containing the ring.

I thought I would be able to dance out of the shop, but I only staggered

as the weight of responsibility hit me. I caught the bus and went home.

Angela was there with three other ladies, all clad in gorgeous sarees. I

managed to kiss her, but I realized that she had to be preoccupied with her

team for the demonstration.

“Let me shower and change, sweetheart,” I pleaded. “What time are we

due there?” She kissed me on the chin by way of reply.

I shaved some stubble off my chin, took a very hot shower, and in the

bedroom, found a clean shirt, a tie and a newish suit. I quickly polished my

shoes and returned to the sitting room. The ladies were all sitting down, so

I walked to the breakfast bar and sat on a stool.

Angela came over and stood by me. She introduced me to the other

ladies.

“You’ve met Zeenat, remember? This is Zena and she comes from

Birmingham, and the blonde girl is Annie who comes from Manchester.”

They all looked lovely in their sarees.

“When should we go, sweetheart?” I asked.

“We’ve got half an hour, so shall we have a drink?” Angela suggested.

“Of course, what would you like?” I stood, but Angela said, “We’ve

already decided on a glass of wine, but we waited for you.”

I opened a white wine that was in the fridge, and poured five glasses. I

put them on a tray and took it into the sitting room.

Angela immediately took the tray from me, offered me a glass, and

then served the girls. I remembered the purpose of the demonstration.

“Good luck, ladies,” I said and they all took a drink. I regret to say I

took a big swig with nervousness, and quickly poured myself another glass.

There was a knock on the door about seven, and a driver of a large

minicab identified himself. We could easily get all five of us in the minicab.

We were just about to leave when I touched my side pocket.

“Stop, please, I’ve forgotten my wallet. It will only take a minute!”

I rushed back inside the flat to take the small dark green box out of

the pocket in my working jacket and put it into my suit pocket. I’d nearly

forgotten the ring. Wow!

I got back into the minicab and sat in the front seat alongside the driver.


The drive took about thirty minutes, as we had to drive a bit of a difficult

route, but the he stopped outside a very large plate-glass window which was

the Indian restaurant. The three ladies disappeared down a side passage,

whilst Angela held my arm as we entered the main door of the restaurant.

She introduced me to several different people, and in my nervousness

I immediately forgot all their names. She quickly kissed my cheek and

disappeared into the back of the restaurant. The rest of us just stood a bit

awkwardly for a few minutes, and then the hostess ushered us to tables to

watch the show.

Four musicians appeared and sat on a raised platform to play Indian

music. A waiter came to our table and gave each of us a small cup of tea.

The musicians stopped and a cymbal clamored as the show started. There

were ten ladies, all gorgeously attired in sarees, and two men who acted as

escorts for the ladies.

Now, I’m biased, but I thought Angela outshone them all. She was one

of the tallest and the slenderest, without being too thin. Her hands and her

fingers made formations to indicate flowers and then small birds. None of

the ladies wore rings.

Several cameras flashed and clicked away, and I smiled, pleased for

Angela’s team.

The show took half an hour, and then the food started, and it was

delicious. I didn’t see Angela at all but realized she had to change clothes

for the next session. The final course was tea again, this time cinnamon,

which I enjoyed. The cymbal clanged again.

This time the ladies wore more casual clothes, like a shalwa chemise

and sports clothes. Annie the blonde wore a hijab and a cloak to disguise

herself completely, but had allowed a wisp of blonde hair to escape the

hijab. The cameras and the flashlights started up again, the bright flashes

blinding.

After half an hour, the second part of the show stopped again and

everyone clapped enthusiastically. The ladies came out to talk to the guests

wearing their more casual clothes, and Angela hurried over to sit next to me.

This was it. I took a deep breath and stood.

Angela looked at me, and I helped her to stand. I walked with her to the

raised platform where a few minutes ago the musicians had been playing.

The noise of people talking gradually died away as they turned to look at

us. She stood, wondering what was going to happen, so I knelt on one knee,

and took the small dark green box out of my jacket pocket.

Of course, she knew immediately what I was going to do. She was not


shocked and she just smiled, but I could hear her increased rate of breathing.

One of the musicians had returned, probably wondering why the

spectators had all gone silent, and he quickly clanged the cymbal, that was

my unheralded cue.

“Angela, my love, will you marry me?” She didn’t move, so I took

the ring out of the box and put it on her engagement finger, which had

miraculously appeared in front of me.

I stood, and she shamelessly jumped into my arms. There was still

silence, as she said in a loud clear voice, “Yes, darling, yes, and I’ll love

you forever and ever.”

Everyone cheered, including the waiters and the musicians.

The owner of the restaurant immediately clapped his hands. Bottles

of champagne appeared, and trays with glasses, and then the cameras and

flashes started again. One photographer was a cameraman from a local

newspaper, and he asked me to tell him our names.

Angela’s team all came to congratulate her, not me.

We managed to get away after about half an hour, and the restaurant

owner gave me his card, and announced, “Please hold your wedding

reception here, and I’ll guarantee a mass of cameras will be there after this

show tonight.”


Chapter Eight

Action Replays

Of course, as soon as the taxi started to move, Angela was full of

questions:

“How did you know my ring size?”

“Your mother told me, and she promised not to tell you.”

“Why did you wait until that demonstration to ask me?”

“I don’t know. It just seemed to be a good opportunity to let everyone

know how much I love you.”

And, then of course:

“Where did you get the ring?” she asked, holding her left hand in front

of her.

“From a jewelry shop in the Strand, who adapted it especially for you.”

She kept on looking at the back of her left hand, sometimes holding it

up to catch the light.

“Why did you choose that color?”

“The green stone is a gemstone called a garnet, and I thought it would

match your lovely eyes.”

She held her hand by the side of her face, so that I could see both eyes

and the ring at the same time. There was a lot of brown in her green eyes,

but they seemed to sparkle like her ring. What I had not realized was that the

circle of seven diamonds made her ring appear similar to her eyes.

She whispered to me, “What did it cost?”

“Nothing to do with you,” and she smiled, and I knew she’d find out if

not immediately, but I did not tell her. I put my arm around her in the taxi.

“William, I do love you, and I’ll love you forever and ever.”

The taxi driver had been listening and now he looked over his shoulder.

“Congrats, guv’nor,” he said, “she is really a lovely lady.”

I had the money ready for the taxi fare, and we went into the flat.

Angela looked at me, kissed me, and said, “Take me to bed please

darling.”

“How about a drink and a shower first?” I was playing for time.


“You get the drinks, and I’ll get ready for a shower.”

I had actually bought a bottle of champagne, in anticipation, so I put the

unopened bottle and two glasses on a tray which I carried to our bedroom

and set on the bedside table.

Angela was hunting through her clothes, and she pulled out a negligee

and flourished it in triumph.

I opened the bathroom door and started to remove my own clothes, but

Angela came in and helped me, and then I undressed her until we both stood

naked looking at one another, as if we’d never seen one another before.

She held her hand towards me with the engagement ring sparkling, and

her smile was like nothing I had ever seen before. Her eyes sparkled and

that sparkle was reflected again by the garnet on her finger.

I turned the water on and as it ran hot, I stepped in. Holding Angela’s

hand, I pulled her in after me. The shock of her bare skin on mine was

electric, although we had done it many times before.

We both got very wet, hair and all, and her nipples hardened against my

chest, and I’m sure that she could feel my penis growing erect as we stood

close together.

I had prepared several bath towels in anticipation of our showering

together, and I dried her and she did the same to me, and then dried her hair.

“Wait,” she said and ducked out of the bathroom.

“Come out now,” she called, and there was this absolutely lovely lady

wearing a short negligee and holding her hands toward me. I was still naked

but at least dry, so I picked her up and laid her on the bed. She never let

go of my neck so I had to follow her, and I looked at my watch; it was just

before ten.

“This time last week,” she said, “I was still working out how I could get

you to kiss me, and now you’ve not only stolen my virginity, but my body

and me as well, and now this!” She waved her left hand in the air.

“And I promise to look after you forever and ever,” I said.

My penis pressed against her negligee, but I could feel the softness of

her stomach, and her nipples had made an impression on my chest.

She moved underneath me and then opened her legs. I lifted my bottom

so that my penis slid between her legs, and then she closed her legs to hold

it tight and close to her vagina. She was still wearing her short negligee that

only covered her upper half.

“Darling, please don’t wait, we can make love later, but right now I

want to feel you inside me.”

I moved my body a bit down the bed, and my penis pressed against the


opening to her vagina. She thrust her hips up to me and then suddenly I was

right inside her very tight vagina. We started to thrust to one another, and

the heat grew inside her, and my penis seemed to expand as she tightened

around me.

“Oh, my love,” she cried, “I’m coming.”

“So am I, sweetheart,” I groaned, and then she screamed as we both

reached our climaxes together. My penis throbbed, and she wrapped her

legs around my waist and thrust her vagina towards me again.

“Wow,” she said, “that must have been twins!”

As we relaxed and our breathing returned to normal, I kissed her and

pulled the duvet over us. After several minutes, I sat up in the bed and

reached for the champagne. It opened with a bang and a lot spilled, but I

poured two glasses, and we lay together sipping the champagne with our

heads supported by pillows.

She moved to get out of bed. “I must tell Mum.”

“Use your mobile and stay with me in bed.”

Her handbag was on the bedside table, and I passed it to her. She opened

the small bag and took out her phone.

“Hi, Mum,” she said, “William has proposed to me and made me the

happiest girl in the whole wide world.”

“I know,” I heard her mother say. “We’ve been sent a photo of him on

one knee, and you with your radiant smile.”

“Let me talk to him,” said her mother.

Angela passed me the phone.

“Congratulations, William, look after her as she’s also very precious to

us.”

“Game, set and match,” we heard her father saying in the background.

“Who sent you the photo, Mum?”

“A woman called Zeenat.”

“I love you, Mum and tell Dad I love him also, but right now I have to

go and attend to my new fiancé.”

“Love you both,” said her mother as she pressed the stop button.

“What about your parents?” she asked.

“Can we tell them in the morning, sweetheart?”

“Why?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Again, right now?”

“It’s not every day that I get engaged to the most beautiful girl in the

world.”


She lay back in the bed and pulled her negligee off by pulling it over

her head and then she threw it on the floor.

“That’s done its job, darling, and now it’s your turn.”

Her skin was electric to my touch, and I gently made love to her, her

ears, her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her clitoris, and as I did, I could feel

her fingers like gossamer wings dancing over the skin on my back.

We fell asleep eventually, naked and very close together under the

duvet.

I got up first early in the morning, and put on the kettle. I had put a

bath towel around my waist, leaving my dressing gown for Angela. When

she came into the kitchen, she had forgotten about the dressing gown, and

I almost whistled in appreciation, even though I had seen her naked many

times before, so I passed her the tray with mugs of tea.

She turned to go back to the bedroom carrying the tray. Her naked

profile was fantastic. She had no shyness or inhibitions, and she walked on

her toes, keeping her heels off the floor like a mature woman. She was not

fat nor was she skinny, just perfect.

As she reached the door of the bedroom, she turned to look at me and

smiled. I suddenly realized that her smile was one of love and affection, but

also triumph! Perhaps I had not been the seducer, but the seduced.

“Darling,” she said, “I’d like to show my ring and show off my new

fiancé to my parents!” She stepped through door into our bedroom.

“Do you think we could go there sometime this weekend?” she

continued as I followed her and shut the door.

“OK, sweetheart, call them again in the morning.”

She put the mugs of tea on the bedside table, and I could see her looking

at me out of the corner of her eye as she had stooped a bit to put the mugs

down. I really was smitten, because she appeared to be even more beautiful

that way.

I lay on the bed and she followed, and we both hugged one another

under the duvet. I reclined on my back and held her tight as we went to

sleep.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart,” I asked sleepily, “tomorrow can you get me a

photo of you that I can send to my parents?” She kissed me in reply.

We spent a perfect weekend together, when Angela and her team

weren’t working, and her parents came to visit us on Saturday evening as

Angela’s mother said she couldn’t wait to see the ring. They brought some

food with them, which her mother had prepared.

I didn’t have any problems until I reached the office on Monday


morning. As I went into the front door of the building there was a poster size

picture of me on one knee proposing to Angela, who looked quite startled at

this stage of the proposal.

In my own office it was even worse. Several color photos with me on

one knee had been arranged around the wall, which the press photographer

must have taken. In the pictures, Angela looked startled, then smiling and

finally beaming with delight.

Some joker had written across the last picture—

“Front cover for the next romance book!”

All morning people were finding excuses to come to my office, and

most came with congratulations.

“When are we going to meet this lovely lady?” asked my boss.

The biggest surprise was Rosie from accounts. She came into my office

with Paul, holding his hand and said to him, “that’s what you have to do!”

Paul looked sheepish and gulped.

When I had left my flat in the morning, Angela pleaded that she was too

tired and grinned at me.

Unbeknown to me, about midmorning just after I left, she went to the

Family Planning Clinic and they too had seen the pictures in the local paper

of her looking triumphant, and me on my knees again.

She told me later that the lady doctor in charge of the clinic met her and

asked to examine her, and offered her several alternatives.

She declined the pill, saying she wanted to have children, but not just

yet; she discussed an IUV with the doctor, and then decided on a diaphragm

and was duly measured and shown how to use it. The doctor recommended

that she should start using the diaphragm immediately, and not wait until

ovulation.

On the next Saturday, we went to Manchester. I took Angela to Euston

Station with the purpose of catching to nine o’clock train, but we arrived a

bit late, although as trains run every twenty minutes, we ended up catching

the nine twenty.

My father met us at Piccadilly Station and drove us home, which was

also new to me as they had moved from the old family house several months

ago. My mother was waiting for us and kissed Angela, and she beamed at

me.

Angela gave her several pictures of us at the proposal, which made

my mother laugh, and also a framed portrait of her which I had never seen

before, and my mother promised to hang it in the sitting room.

Thank goodness it was a lovely day and the sun was shining, as if


expecting Angela. In the afternoon, we walked in the countryside, and I

know that my mother had a long chat with Angela as they walked together

behind us.

My father showed us what he had been painting later in the afternoon.

He used to travel around with his camera, and he specialized in taking

photos of butterflies, and then painting pictures of several with water colors.

Angela spotted one picture of several rabbits that he had painted several

months ago, and expressed her appreciation for it, so my father gave it to

her as an engagement present.

About a week later, Paul told me that a firm of chartered surveyors in

the city had approached Rosie’s father to talk about a new building for a

publishing company, and then they had arranged to inspect several buildings.

The next management meeting was again chaired by Martindale, and

the plans of several properties had been pinned to the walls around the table.

We also discussed whether the company would buy or rent the new

property, and the accounts department made the decision as they could

immediately see tax advantages in renting the new premises.

My boss asked if the foreign bank was going to rent the Farringdon

Street building, and the Chairman laid a drawing on the table of what the

face of the building would look like, with no garish titles, only a discreet

brass plate on the steps leading to the front door.

By this time my bank account and my Visa card had recovered from the

engagement ring purchase, so Angela and I discussed moving to a bigger

flat.

“We don’t want to have a baby right away,” she reasoned, “but it would

be better if we were prepared, and had a larger flat.”

I have never been able to refuse her, so her triumphant smile was often

repeated. I just loved her without any reservations.


Author’s Note

The author hopes that you have enjoyed this e-book. You can also

go back to the website from where you purchased the e-book, and write a

review, please.

Other e-books by Adam Mann:

West African Heat

Tsunami Tragedy

Safari Heat

Singapore Heat

Hanoi Heat

Depraved

Kandy Heat

Heat in the Teagardens

The Restaurant and Black High Heels!

Red High Heels

All the Girls Love a Sailor

Helga’s Red Thigh Boots

In each book the author had intended to write a romantic love story. But

sex is an important factor in all male and female relationships – it cannot

be brushed under the table. Attraction can quickly turn to passion; passion

is manifested in physical love and sex; in which the heat is then generated,

which is why six of these books have to word HEAt in the title. Mind you

HEA stands for Happy Ever After!

The author also realised that:

It is a fact that most erotic books are written by women for women.

The author would like to offer alternatives probably for men of all ages.

When submitting manuscripts to publishers many of them ask about

the plot and the characters, and they ask:

Is it M/F, or F/M/F, or M/F/M (Oops), or even M/FFFF?


Let the author assure readers that all his stories are strictly M/F, or at

least one F at a time! The publishers also ask about a dominant M and

a submissive F, which in his stories he follows, if you the reader don’t

take into account the scheming, whiles and manipulations of the so-called

submissive Fs!

And without which life would be so dull!

It is amusing about the word ‘butterfly’. The early botanists frequently

gave newly discovered flowers botanical names often based on parts of

the female body. One of the earliest was called hymenocallis, or the spider

lily. Hymenocallis mean beautiful membrane. You work that out.

Then in about 1750 a Dutch botanist named a flower ‘clitoria’, or butterfly

pea, and apart from it being blue, or sometimes pink, in colour does have a

remarkable resemblance to the human female clitoris.

In Asia many ladies refer to their clitoris as their ‘butterfly’, so I asked

what a men would call his penis, and was told his ‘bird’.

It’s interesting.

Whilst you are looking around please have a look at my websites:

http://www.facebook.com/mike.lord.96558

http://www.lordmaity.com

http://www.adammannauthor.com

http://www.adammannauthor.wix.com/sizzlingbooks

Twitter: @adammannauthor.


About the Author

Adam Mann has lived and worked in Africa and Asia for many years.

He has always been fascinated by personal relationships, and in real life is

now enjoying his fourth marriage, after being widowed, divorced, had his

third marriage annulled, as this ‘wife’ had forgotten to get divorced.

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