though,’ he said. ‘It isn’t a patch on yours.’
‘You don’t work at it as Mum works on ours. You have other things to do.’
He’d set the dining room table in readiness for their lunch, with more formality than Mum used when she was expecting company. He used old Doulton china, Bohemian cut glass and sterling silver cutlery, and the table looked fit for a queen. When they were ready to eat, he brought the cold chicken salad and white wine from the kitchen.
‘This is lovely,’ she told him. He’d even warmed the bread rolls and folded the damask napkins. ‘Is this how you live when you’re by yourself?’
‘I’d like to,’ he laughed. ‘But I haven’t the energy to set things up like this every day. Often, it’s a tray on my knee. Is that what you do at home?’
‘No, Mum likes to sit up to the table. The kitchen sometimes, for breakfast, the dining room for other meals.’
‘I want things to be nice because you’re here and sharing it with me. I always will, Chloe. I do love you.’
Afterwards he took her to his sitting room. He’d brewed coffee and served it in a Georgian silver pot on a matching tray. They drank from beautiful cups of eggshell-thin china. Just about the only pieces of furniture that weren’t antique were a pair of large super-soft sofas.
Chloe sat down in the corner of one and Adam occupied the other end of the same sofa. He never stopped talking, but somehow he moved imperceptibly closer until he could put his arms round her.
To feel him this close, his breath warm against her cheek, his lips on hers, was what she dreamed of at night in her own bed. The strength of his passion surprised her, even stronger than her own.
Half an hour later Adam whispered, ‘Will you come upstairs with me?’
‘No,’ she said; that was what her mother had been afraid might happen. But she couldn’t stop now. His hand moving against her bare skin was making thrills like fireworks explode in her body.
They were lying on a soft rug when he suddenly pulled away from her. She rubbed her cheek against his and tried to pull him back.
‘Chloe, are you sure?’ His voice was thick with desire.
That rang an alarm bell, she rolled away from him and tried to sit up. ‘Yes, but I’m scared we could make a baby. I’d be in terrible trouble, my mother would kill me.’
Adam smiled. ‘It’s the last thing I want, but it won’t happen.’
‘It happened to my Aunt Goldie.’
‘But years ago. This is the 1960s, all that can be avoided now. You must have read about it.’
‘Yes, but I don’t know exactly how . . .’
‘I do, and I’ve got what’s needed.’ He pulled himself up to the sofa to reach into the pocket of the trousers he’d removed, and showed her a condom.
‘That’ll stop it?’
‘Yes, guaranteed.’
Chloe hesitated, ‘I’ve read that it isn’t always reliable, that there’s a pill now which is better.’
‘We can get that later. This is what I have here and now. It’s perfectly safe.’
‘But what if it doesn’t stop . . . ?’
‘It will. I’ll take good care that it won’t happen. You must relax and not worry about that side of it.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Absolutely. But talking about it like this – hell, Chloe, it’s a real turn-off. Come on, we might as well get dressed and go out. Some other time, eh?’
The following week, Chloe was very much looking forward to Saturday, when she could take the train to Manchester again. She knew now what to expect, and felt she would have the time of her life if Adam made love to her. Being with him was far more fun than staying at home with her own family. They were really quite stick-in-the-mud. She felt she was living at last.
They were still in bed when he ran his finger down her cheek to move her hair away. ‘Stay the night with me?’ he murmured.
‘I couldn’t possibly.’ Chloe sat up with a jerk. ‘Mum would be aghast if I even suggested it.’
‘She’s an earlier generation,
‘You don’t work at it as Mum works on ours. You have other things to do.’
He’d set the dining room table in readiness for their lunch, with more formality than Mum used when she was expecting company. He used old Doulton china, Bohemian cut glass and sterling silver cutlery, and the table looked fit for a queen. When they were ready to eat, he brought the cold chicken salad and white wine from the kitchen.
‘This is lovely,’ she told him. He’d even warmed the bread rolls and folded the damask napkins. ‘Is this how you live when you’re by yourself?’
‘I’d like to,’ he laughed. ‘But I haven’t the energy to set things up like this every day. Often, it’s a tray on my knee. Is that what you do at home?’
‘No, Mum likes to sit up to the table. The kitchen sometimes, for breakfast, the dining room for other meals.’
‘I want things to be nice because you’re here and sharing it with me. I always will, Chloe. I do love you.’
Afterwards he took her to his sitting room. He’d brewed coffee and served it in a Georgian silver pot on a matching tray. They drank from beautiful cups of eggshell-thin china. Just about the only pieces of furniture that weren’t antique were a pair of large super-soft sofas.
Chloe sat down in the corner of one and Adam occupied the other end of the same sofa. He never stopped talking, but somehow he moved imperceptibly closer until he could put his arms round her.
To feel him this close, his breath warm against her cheek, his lips on hers, was what she dreamed of at night in her own bed. The strength of his passion surprised her, even stronger than her own.
Half an hour later Adam whispered, ‘Will you come upstairs with me?’
‘No,’ she said; that was what her mother had been afraid might happen. But she couldn’t stop now. His hand moving against her bare skin was making thrills like fireworks explode in her body.
They were lying on a soft rug when he suddenly pulled away from her. She rubbed her cheek against his and tried to pull him back.
‘Chloe, are you sure?’ His voice was thick with desire.
That rang an alarm bell, she rolled away from him and tried to sit up. ‘Yes, but I’m scared we could make a baby. I’d be in terrible trouble, my mother would kill me.’
Adam smiled. ‘It’s the last thing I want, but it won’t happen.’
‘It happened to my Aunt Goldie.’
‘But years ago. This is the 1960s, all that can be avoided now. You must have read about it.’
‘Yes, but I don’t know exactly how . . .’
‘I do, and I’ve got what’s needed.’ He pulled himself up to the sofa to reach into the pocket of the trousers he’d removed, and showed her a condom.
‘That’ll stop it?’
‘Yes, guaranteed.’
Chloe hesitated, ‘I’ve read that it isn’t always reliable, that there’s a pill now which is better.’
‘We can get that later. This is what I have here and now. It’s perfectly safe.’
‘But what if it doesn’t stop . . . ?’
‘It will. I’ll take good care that it won’t happen. You must relax and not worry about that side of it.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Absolutely. But talking about it like this – hell, Chloe, it’s a real turn-off. Come on, we might as well get dressed and go out. Some other time, eh?’
The following week, Chloe was very much looking forward to Saturday, when she could take the train to Manchester again. She knew now what to expect, and felt she would have the time of her life if Adam made love to her. Being with him was far more fun than staying at home with her own family. They were really quite stick-in-the-mud. She felt she was living at last.
They were still in bed when he ran his finger down her cheek to move her hair away. ‘Stay the night with me?’ he murmured.
‘I couldn’t possibly.’ Chloe sat up with a jerk. ‘Mum would be aghast if I even suggested it.’
‘She’s an earlier generation,
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