‘Her name is Ann Farrow. She’s of English extraction. She’s a senior lecturer in the Department of Computer Sciences at the University. Is that sufficient background for you to produce a simple tea and biscuits?’
‘Married or single?’ she shot back, encouraged by his sarcasm. Sarcasm was humour, wasn’t it?
His mouth thinned and for a moment she thought he was going to say something rude. ‘Single. She’ll be arriving about eleven.’
Julia grinned as he stalked out. A computer expert, just his cup of tea! They probably didn’t make love, just indulged in a bit of mutual programming. Julia’s mind drifted into the realms of fantasy. What would Hugh be like in bed? Surely he would shed some of that self-restraint along with his clothes? Or perhaps, because of his largeness, he n
eeded it even more. It must be a little like making love with a steam-roller! Julia giggled as she put her plate in the sink. Her thoughts roamed from fantasy to indecency as she tried to imagine Hugh in the flesh. She had never seen a naked man in reality, but basic knowledge of human biology filled the gaps. He had a magnificent chest, wide and hard and warmly furred, would the rest of him match up? Weren’t feet and hands supposed to indicate the size of a man’s vital parts? Julia blushed at the involuntary tingling sensation that invaded her as she remembered the large, capable hands on the Maserati’s wheel.
Natural curiosity prompted her to mention the expected guest to Connie when she brought through the breakfast trolly.
‘Oh Ann. I might have known she’d find an excuse to drop in while Hugh’s here.’
‘Is she nice?’
Connie wrinkled her face. ‘A paragon. Brunette, cool, cerebral … just Hugh’s type. To tell the truth I think she’s a bit of a bore. And I think Hugh knows, at least I hope he does, that his chief attractions for Ann are his wallet and his status. She’s convenient for him, though, and available.’
How terrible, thought Julia, to be accepted on the basis of your convenience and availability. Was that all Hugh asked of a woman?
Baking for Hugh’s guest suddenly gave Julia the idea for the perfect revenge on that wretch, Richard. She’d bake him a cake. A gorgeous, mouth-watering, tempting chocolate cake, made with loving care from the most revolting ingredients possible. She had seen it done before, as part of a secret prank on the part of fellow Cordon Bleu students, the day before a cooking contest.
It turned out perfectly; Julia crowed with delight when she eventually took the innocuous-looking cake from the oven. To disguise the odd smell—a mixture of curry, mustard and pickles—she carefully covered the entire surface with chocolate icing, liberally laced with brandy. Finally she decorated the top with stiffly salted cream and half-hid the cake on one of the back shelves in the pantry. Richard was a confirmed pantry-raider, a midnight-feaster extraordinaire; he wouldn’t be able to resist taking a piece, a big piece, Julia hoped cruelly.
Not long after she had baited her trap, Julia met up with Richard in the hall and found herself breezily accepting one of his silly dares. Her elation faded a little when she found herself gingerly mounting the banister rail at the top of the stairs and gulping as she looked down the long, slippery slide.
‘Come on scaredy-cat,’ taunted Richard, safely at the bottom. ‘I’ve done it hundreds of times. Five dollars you won’t, and as a concession I’ll stand here and catch you as you come off.’
‘Scaredy-cat’ did it. Julia shoved off. It was much steeper, and faster, than it had looked and Julia scrunched her eyes shut. She screamed as she whizzed around the tight corner at the landing, thighs desperately gripping for balance, her red woollen skirt billowing up around her legs. Richard stepped back a pace as she shot at high speed towards him and she shrieked curses at him: ‘Richard, you swine, get back th—ooophh!’
She hit him square in the chest with an almighty thump and they both went sprawling on the hall mat in a tangle of limbs. They lay there breathless for several moments, trying to figure out who belonged to what. Julia squirmed backwards and came up against something rigid and uncomfortable. She moved her head see what it was. Her gaze travelled up a grey-trousered leg…. Oh no! She buried her face in the nearest convenient spot—Richard’s neck.
‘I don’t need to introduce Richard to you, Ann, but the lady in red underneath him is our … cook. Ann Farrow—Julia Fry.’ He stepped over them and carried on down the hallway. The only glimpse Julia got of his companion was a beautifully turned ankle atop a green stiletto heel. Richard was convulsing with laughter.
‘It’s all right for you,’ Julia groaned. ‘This sort of idiot thing is expected of you.’
‘Only Hugh could carry off an introduction like that!’ Richard gasped, then his laughter faded as he looked down at Julia’s small face. ‘But since we’re here … why don’t we …’ He bent his head, kissing her full on the mouth.
‘Don’t, Richard …’ Julia pushed at him, annoyed not only by the inappropriateness of the moment, but also by the intensely love-like glint in the green eyes.
‘Why not?’ His hands slid around her waist, holding her still.
“Then Julia let me wooe thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me:
And when I shall meet
Thy silv’ry feet,
My soule Ile pour into thee.”
On the last breath he kissed her again, a fervent, persuasive kiss that bewildered her. What on earth was he up to?
‘When you’ve quite finished, Julia.’ She wrenched her head frantically to one side to see Hugh leaning around the lounge door, frowning distastefully down at them. ‘The tea?’ he reminded her heavily. ‘And Richard, there are less public, more comfortable places to do what you two seem to be intent on doing.’
Richard—the swine—laughed: ‘When we get to your great age, big brother, we’ll probably think the same. But when you’re young and hot-blooded, anywhere, anytime will do, eh Julia?’
Julia was too busy struggling to her feet to answer, horrified to discover that her skirt had been wrapped around her waist. She fled in disarray to the kitchen, frowning as she put on the kettle and began to lay up a tray. Why should she care what Hugh thought of her? He was already convinced that she was a flighty little piece, and she hadn’t missed that pointed introduction … cook indeed! Obviously Hugh considered that a chef must have dignity, a chef must not roll about on the floor showing off black lace panties to all and sundry. She bit her hp. She was beginning to think that her jinx had extended itself from things mechanical to things Hugh. Always having been popular, and confident of being liked, it was unsettling to come up against someone who didn’t respond to her sunny, open nature. And it was more than just the challenge of getting him to see her in a favourable light that gnawed at her, she genuinely wanted him to like her, to respect her as a person. She wasn’t quite sure why, after all, she hardly knew the man, but he had succeeded in intriguing her and she was rather piqued that the interest wasn’t returned.