The Room on the Second Floor by T A Williams Page A

rug were now separated by a door.
    To her infinite satisfaction, the cottage pie turned out to be a great success. Roger clearly loved it, and ate two massive helpings. From his recumbent position on the floor, Jasper wagged his tail and drooled in sympathy. The evening was looking better. Even when Roger drained a full glass of red wine, she was not too worried. He was articulate, charming and just a little flirty. At one point he even reached out and took her hand. He then held it for all of five or six seconds. She had rarely, if ever, seen him in such a warm mood. Mind you, she thought to herself with satisfaction, this was the first time she had ever entertained him in her own home, or plied him with wine. Maybe alcohol was the answer to unlocking his feelings.
    The summer pudding, accompanied by clotted cream, was another definite success. He ate it with relish and heaped compliments upon her, which only served to heighten her euphoric mood. By now the evening was actually going better than she had hoped – and she had done a lot of hoping. Finally she told him to take a seat on the sofa, while she went off to make some coffee.
    Upon her return with the tray of coffee, she was thrilled to see him pat the empty place beside him with his hand. Even the sight of the dog toying with the loose threads at the end of the rug failed to spoil her mood.
    His voice was low. ‘Why don’t you come and sit beside me on this lovely new sofa?’
    She placed the tray on the coffee table and accepted the invitation. She was hardly able to breathe as she felt his arm encircle her shoulder. His face turned towards her, and she was sure she felt him kiss her ear.
    ‘You are the most wonderful girl in the whole world.’
    His words were what she had waited years to hear. The kiss, light as it had been, was what she had so often dreamt of. He laid his head on her shoulder. She let her head gently rest back against his, her heart beating furiously. At last, at last. She was not really sure where the evening would go from here. She knew, without any doubt, that whatever direction he chose would be just fine with her.
    In the gardens outside the flat, a shadowy figure wrapped in a thick dark overcoat discreetly stamped his feet and wished he could risk lighting a cigarette. He had been standing there for over three hours. God only knew how much longer he would have to wait. Voices approached, and he froze until they passed. In fact, on this decidedly autumnal night, freezing was a definite possibility. He clenched his fingers around the handle of the baseball bat and prepared for a long wait. Cold or no cold.

Chapter 13
    Duggie and Tina lay in the bath and looked out over the river. The moon, reflecting across the reed beds, lit up the bathroom so brightly he could count her bright-red toenails as they lay against his cheek. He was without doubt a happy man, not least as she had just described him as a gentleman. He discovered that her definition of the word was a man prepared to put his back to the taps.
    Not for the first time, the topic of conversation had gravitated to the dog-skin parchment and King Henry’s decree. He took a sip of his wine and let his eyes rest on her amazing body. She was rinsing the soap off her breasts at that moment and he watched the performance with delight. He found himself thinking out loud, ‘It must have been fun to live at the manor way back then. I still can’t get over it being a licensed den of iniquity!’
    ‘So that sort of thing might have been going on at the manor for over a thousand years, then?’ Her voice held the same tone of awe as had Roger’s when he translated the Latin.
    ‘What sort of thing?’ Duggie was right on cue. He would have set about showing her, but for her strategic use of the loofah to protect her modesty. ‘It’s really incredible.’ She fended him off effectively, but not unkindly. ‘Such a posh and imposing building being used for nefarious practices…’ Duggie