Romance at Sea

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
An ageing celebrity remembers meeting her husband at sea, when talking to her biographer.

Submitted: July 12, 2008

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Submitted: July 12, 2008

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CHAPTER 1
 
Fog drifted over the city as former celebrated international pianist Gwendolyn Chappell was into her thirteenth session of being interviewed by her biographer, Stephen Miles.
 
“What do you recall as your naughtiest moment of your life Gwen?”
 
Dressed as if going to a ball, although it was only just after 8:30 am, Gwen said she would have to think about that. Earlier in her career she was fucked in a broom cupboard by a stage manager and there was the hilarious time when a female male impersonator took a huge likening to her and attempted unsuccessfully to engage her sexually.
 
Gwen looked out of the apartment widow, high above most of the city now buried in fog. She heard foghorns on the Hudson and smiled and began her recollection.
 
“Today you’ll hear about me meeting a real man. It was during the peak of my career. After all the passengers had boarded I arrived to walk behind the scruffy men carrying my cabin baggage. I turned to wave and was caught in a barrage of camera flashlight and TV lights. You see everyone knew that during this tour I was to present a private concert to the Queen of England and her family. You will be aware of course if you want fame to stick you have to treat the media kindly so I gave them what them wanted and to cement my fame: I stuck my tongue out after shouting, ‘Fuck off and do something useful you jerks.’ Shelia my agent had coached me to do that, being simply a wonderful publicist and having being a newspaper photographer herself earlier in her career.”
 
As Gwen continued talking her mind returned fully to that day in 1971 and she could see that day unfolding...
 
* * *
 
Gwen stepped aboard into the Midship’s Loby and that last gangway was pulled away and the great ship was ready to sail, it’s final passenger on board. An immaculately suited man, aged about forty, said to her rudely, “That was a disgusting way for a lady to behave, especially you being one of the world’s greatest concert pianists playing the circuit today.”
 
“Look, I don’t know who are your buddy…”
 
Shelia Molineaux whispered to Gwen.
 
“Oh I do declare you are no other than Randall Jones, new owner of the New York Chronicle. Please learn to be more respectful before you dare speak to me again you drunken media man.”
 
Gwen half-expected the insolent guy to half sink to his feet and apologize but all he said was, “You are indeed a fading beauty but it’s a pity about your pettiness. Good day to you Miss Chappell. May the media castigate you.”
 
The media didn’t of course. Already sub-editor’s were writing headlines saying. ‘Our Gwen Gives it to the Media Again’ and ‘Rude Bitch But We Love Her’ while a voice over for a TV network film clip to be screened that evening stated, ‘This is celebrated pianist Gwendolyn Chappell presenting one her more infamous farewells to the American media. Some say this is her farewell European tour but even the media wouldn’t want that to occur. She’ a rare world-class celebrity who’s not up herself.’ Attorneys were called in to consider those last few words and reject or approve them for broadcasting.
 
Aboard the great liner the chief purser stepped between Gwen and Mr Jones in case she decided to take a swing at her tormentor.
 
“Hi Jack, still strutting your stuff I see.”
 
“You know me Gwen, I’ll go with the ship when she goes to be broken up for scrap. Come with me. Your usual penthouse is piled high with flowers as usual. Once you have seen them do you wish to have them distributed to other passengers?”
 
“Yes please Jack but make sure they are given to tourist-class passengers.”
 
Randall stroked his cheek where, for a moment, he’d thought Miss Chappell had been about to whack him. He looked at her disappearing and thought she wanted excessive flowers distributed to the cabins of lower-class passengers. The aging babe had a touch of humanity… and class.
 
Later when they were out at sea, Randall saw Miss Chappell’s horsy-faced woman companion looking around the room. She spotted him and headed straight over.
 
“Mr Jones, Miss Chappell will be honored if you would kindly join her at her table this evening.”
 
“Whatever for?”
 
“Because she finds you somewhat interesting and appear to have a lively mind. What response may I take to her?”
 
“Tell her to get lost.”
 
“I shall rephrase your response and pass it on.”
 
The grand first-class dinning hall was packed for the second sitting, as the sea was calm, not giving passengers with weak stomachs the opportunity to feel seedy. People knew that famous concert pianist Gwendolyn Chappell was aboard and usually could be persuaded by the captain to play two items. They also knew it was traditional for celebrities to go only to the second sitting.
 
At the captain’s table six of his seven guests were invited to stand to acknowledge their presence. First were the Canadian twin sisters who were Olympic skating medallists, two film stars, a Japanese electronics inventor and Australian newspaper magnate Randall Jones. They received polite applause and then the orchestra played on.
 
After the main courses were cleared away the captain rose and a spotlight fell on to Gwen sitting at the next table. “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Miss Gwendolyn Chappell, one of our best-loved frequent passengers.”
 
Polite applause filled the room and as Gwen stood to acknowledge she saw Randall clapping and grinning at her.
 
“Gustavo,” she said, turning to the pianist in the small orchestra. “When was the piano tuned?”
 
“This morning miss. It was known you’d be aboard. It’s as good as you’ll ever get at sea.”
 
“Thank you.”
 
Gwen, very glittering in her gown and small tiara, went to the piano and sat on the padded stool. “Mr Randall Jones please nominate a piece you wish me to play.”
 
He stood, very elegant in his tuxedo, ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ if you please.
 
“Oh Mr Jones, I’m afraid I play only classical music and for children at the under age ten birthday parties of my relatives. Captain, your request please.”
 
“No stop!” said Mr Jones still standing. “My grandmother played that tune for me throughout my childhood.”
 
Gwen sighed and said, very well, and not only played but sang it as well. When she finished women everywhere were sniffing into handkerchiefs and men were studying the ceiling.
 
“Right Mr Jones, one more.”
 
Waltzing Matilda please.”
 
Cheers erupted from several people in the dining room.
 
“Oh, other homesick Australians in the house. Very well, I shall not disappoint. But don’t be offended by the variations, the real tune will come when the orchestra joins me after three variants.”
 
Gwen played the tune as a very slow waltz, at jazz rhythm and as a boogie and then pausing for Richard to bring his baton down played it authentically.
 
The audience clapped but appeared a little restrained.
 
“Captain? You have the final request.”
 
“Miss Chappell. I believe Mr Jones can conclude with a finale worthy of this occasion.”
 
“Very well. Mr Jones, are you capable of producing something more challenging?”
 
“I think so miss. ‘The Warsaw Concerto,’ accompanied by the orchestra.”
 
“Mr Jones, I don’t think you understand. There have been no rehearsals…”
 
“Ask the conductor if they are willing to give it a go…we are a tolerant bunch of people here and are aware you guys won’t have rehearsed.”
 
“No.”
 
“Well, you disappoint me Miss Chappell.”
 
Gwen appeared about to leap from her stool when the conductor who had been consulting his players whispered to Gwen and took up his baton.
 
The room hushed and Gwen and the orchestra played.
 
At the end of the magnificent presentation the room remained hushed, a champagne cork popped and the entire assembly apart from three people in wheelchairs, rose and acclaimed wildly. Passengers would talk about that night long after the end of the voyage.
 
The chief purser spoke to an elderly man seated on Gwen’s right after she was seated and he excused himself and left after speaking briefly to his young female companion. The captain then arrived with Mr Jones, introduced Randall to Gwen and returned to his table.
 
* * *
 
The voice of biographer Stephen Miles brought Gwen out of her virtual self-hypnosis.
 
“And so began the greatest romance of your life with your husband Randall who died three years ago?”
 
“Yes, and it may interest you to know that shipping line for several years played as boarding and disembarking music my recording of the Warsaw Concerto with the ship’s orchestra recorded after three weeks of rehearsals. Eventually the shipping line gained a new chairman and he instructed that the passenger liners must lighten up their music, the jerk.”
 
 
 
Stephen arrived home and his wife Susan asked, “And how was the arrogant bitch today?”
 
“Marvelous, absolutely marvelous. She’d gotten me into her story at last; I was living it today.”
 
“Are you and I talking about the same woman?”
 
“I would think so.”
 
“Stephen, have you been drinking?”
 
“Three cups of coffee and just before coming away one glass of wine.”
 
Susan hung up Stephen’s coat from where he’d dropped it on the chair and she could see he was tired but happy. “What has changed you? You are grumbling about the possibility of dropping the project and returning her money? Did this morning’s fog dull your reasoning?”
 
“No she talked about sailing out of New York in the fog and pulled me into her story. It was as if I was there. Amazing.”
 
“Well you are not making sense. Next thing you’ll be telling me you have a winning book with your name on it.”
 
“I reserve judgment on that. But allow me to tell you as from today I know I am dealing with a misunderstood genius. Look, pour us drinks and come beside me for a cuddle and listen to my recording. I’ll play it through the stereo system. It is mainly her; I scarcely had to ask a question.”
 
“Oh god. I better mix stiff martinis.”
 
They sat in silence when the recording finished after Stephen added the date, time and location of the interview until Susan, a retired psychologist said, “Wow.”
 
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
 
Susan said: “I should think she was socially restricted during her childhood, in effect missing most of her childhood because someone kept her at the piano, probably her mother. My opinion is she learned to be rebellious but her mother had the strength of character and quelled it but after allowing her daughter to let off some steam. Music teachers exercised similar control. Her life was all about control, control, control even after the breakthrough came in winning competitions and then bookings began coming in and she established professionally. I would think because of the restrains she lived with that she sought release and that explains her rather childish behavior with the media. The reporters hit back and she loved it, loved the barbs and the attention. She was smart enough that it was music not personal reputation that mattered and if she became known for being difficult and at times doing some outrageous things that would captivate people including those who love to hate. As you say, today was a breakthrough for you darling. You now have her trust and she’ll deliver for you, as it is you that will take her to the biggest audience she’d even known – the world of booklovers who read good biographies that tell it, warts and all.”
 
“Thank you dear. I knew I could rely on you. Once I have taken her through life with Randall I’ll return to something you’ve put your finger on: her relationship with her mother. She’s spoken to me a lot about the dedication of her mother but thanks to you I see it as being all too pat. There is the agony and the ecstasy to dig out.”
 
“Thank you darling. Please play me the recording again. You go off to your study if you wish.”
 
“No, I wish to hear it again. I must buy a book on that liner as she was in the seventies so I can describe the layout and décor in detail.”
 
 
 
CHAPTER 2
 
Gwen stood at the window looking as the wind gusts whipping the rain around the taller buildings. She sipped coffee and still in her nightdress under a robe said, “You were earlier today.”
 
Stephen knew not to dispute that so said, “Whatever, let’s start.”
 
“I don’t feel like taking about my professional life today.”
 
“Well don’t, let’s talk sex.”
 
“Ha, I’m not much interested in sex these days,” said the retired pianist who’d turn sixty at the end of the year.
 
“Take me back. Let’s see, it’s Day One of the voyage on the QE2 and we’re heading for Southampton…
 
* * *
 
Gwen thought the captain could have asked her before dumping the bumptious Australian on to her, quite forgetting she’d originally invited Randall Jones to her table. She’d said she was pleased to meet him formerly but as soon as the captain left she ignored Mr Jones, speaking instead to the politician on the other side of her who was telling her about salmon fishing in Scotland. The thought of lovely fish being hooked by beastly men smoking cigars and talking crap made her feel like puking over the guy so she turned back to Randall.
 
“Thank you for your requests. Do you enjoy torturing women?”
 
“Not at all, I knew you’d be up to it. Have you had any memorable affairs?”
 
That made Gwen mad. She felt like calling, “Waiter, remove this jerk but perhaps she should give the guy a second chance. “Yes, but none were celebrities and none were American.”
 
“Three for me too, but none were musicians and none were my wives. I’m on my third marriage.”
 
“So, you are not good at picking good fucks?”
 
Conversations around them died and poor Randall looked in need of a lifeline.
 
“Come on, take me to a bar where we can continue this fascinating conversation. Sorry folk Mr Jones has this inclination to confess and this space is too open for him to be explicit. Charles, please order another two bottles for this table and then two more to follow and place that order on my tab. Goodnight everyone.”
 
She had to pull Randall from his chair and as they left the orchestra slipped into playing “Goodnight Irene.”
 
As they settled into the Observation Bar Randall said, “Christ you are a social embarrassment.”
 
“Stop whining and tell me what these other women had that your wives didn’t?”
 
 
They left the bar almost two hours later. Gwen, releasing the grip on Randall she’d applied so he couldn’t run out on her, pushed him into her penthouse suite and locked the door.
 
“Do you know why you are here Randall?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Do you feel like doing it?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Good boy, Gwen said, undoing his bowtie.
 
“Smallish tits,” Randall said as he got them uncovered.
 
“I trust there is nothing smallish about you Randall.”
 
Randall checked out okay and was invited to dock. He did this slowly and deliberately and watched quite a bush surround his disappearing cock.
 
Gwen was rather disappointed that their coupling lacked the magic she’d expected and felt like kicking him out but they both fell asleep without either of them climaxing.
 
 
In the morning the sound of off-key singing awoke Gwen. She smiled and thought something was wrong between them. So had no idea what it was but it needed to be fixed.
 
Randall breezed into the bedroom, his dick swinging as he toweled his back. “Out of bed you lazy bitch.”
 
“No and don’t you dare talk to me like that.”
 
Bang! She slid on to the floor, knocking her head. She burst into tears and realized he’d pulled the mattress up and dumped her.
 
“God, you are a wimp,” he said.
 
She went to smack him over the nose, the idea being to crush cartilage but hopefully to leave bone intact, sending him to the ship’s hospital.
 
Gwen tensed and let fly but he appeared to read her intention easily and caught her wrist in flight. “You bitch, whack me and I’ll hit you into tomorrow.”
 
A person not unused to violence, she could be violent at times, Gwen lost it completely and burst into tears. Through the water flow she saw muscle and sinews on his chest and arms and knew instantly this guy was superbly fit. So what? She found herself being bundled into the shower, soaped all over, rinsed, bundled out and dried without a finger being pushed up her or whatever. She was outraged – not by the fact that he’d not fingered her but because he’d soaped her – she’d never allowed soap to touch her body since she was eighteen and he’d wet her hair and not used her baby shampoo.
 
“Get away from me your creep,” she yelled.
 
Randall handed her the wall phone and said complain to the captain. But as soon as she went to talk he snatched the phone from here and cut the connection, glaring at her and saying bitch. At that her resistance collapsed. “Okay you brute, violate me and see if I care.”
 
The effect was not as she expected. He looked at her pitifully and put on his trousers and dress shirt and picking up his shoes and remainder of his clothes went to leave the room.
 
“Wait, where are you going?”
 
“To find the company of warm humans.”
 
“I’m a warm human.”
 
“Ha!”
 
He was almost out the door when she said, “Wait, I’ll do anything you ask.”
 
“Oh yeah?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Right, there is no mutual respect between us and that’s why we blew having intercourse last night.”
 
She couldn’t believe her ears. “Really?”
 
“Yes really. If you want to be plowed delightfully legless tonight dress into shorts and a pretty top and pack your towel, sunglass, lipstick, creams and whatever to rest with me beside the pool. Put on your swimsuit instead of bra and briefs.”
 
“All right. At least this doesn’t sound boring. Will I have to wait until tonight for sex?”
 
“Earlier if you can managed to turn me on.”
 
“Right, a deal. Now leave my room. I’ll meet you at breakfast. Or instead perhaps I’ll lay a formal complaint about you?
 
“Please yourself,” he said, going out the door and leaving her to close it.
 
Gwen was really uptight when she went to breakfast, a jacket over her shoulders and her hair down and that was unusual for her. She nodded acknowledgement at some of the people who called to her and was so uptight, just as if she was about to walk in to perform at a concert. How could a man have such a hold over her? She saw him at a table alone and was drawn as to a magnet although she’d already decided she wouldn’t sit with him although she’d pass and smile politely. As she sat she though she’d slap him if he asked what had taken her so long, but he was standing, clutching his napkin at his waist and smiling, lust in his eyes. Oh God, not at breakfast!
 
But it was fine, very civil in fact. He answered every question she put to him, although making him almost scowl at times. Through that interrogation she learned a great deal about him. The motion of the ship didn’t disturb her; she was a transatlantic crossing veteran.
 
“People are already dropping like flies with green gills,” he said conversationally.
 
She thought did that imply Randall had extraordinary vision and smiled at her joke. “Have you seen people being sea sick?”
 
“No the waiter pouring my four cups of coffee kept telling me numbers would be smaller coming in for breakfast due to sea sickness that was always worse at the start of a crossing.”
 
“Four cups of coffee is rather excessive.”
 
“It would have been fewer had you got off your ass and arrived here earlier.”
 
She smiled and he scowled. “You are such a pig I don’t know why I bother with you.”
 
He smiled widely and she almost whimpered, knowing she was falling for him like a silly young woman desperate to be taken by a man.
 
Gwen ordered English breakfast tea and two pieces of lightly done toast.
 
Randall said, “Butterflies have more than that for breakfast.”
 
“I only eat a proper breakfast after being thoroughly seduced. It’s a weight-control thing, offset at times by a ravenous need to restore energy.”
 
“How fascinating.”
 
Thinking that was a typical male snide remark she went to strike back but caught his expression – he looked fascinated!
 
He scoffed his plate of Traditional English Breakfast and then sat back watching her nibble. “I’m glad you’re not fat and ugly.”
 
“Gawd, what an Australian cur you are.”
 
He grinned and said she should leave her unpalatable breakfast and commence her first lesson.
 
“My first lesson?”
 
“Follow me.”
 
He walked off like a husband going out to the woodshed to save the family from chill as the fire in the living room fireplace was in need of fuel. Why was she thinking like this? To try to make sense of him, that’s why. She couldn’t remember meeting a man so perplexing. Most men – no correction – all other men would have stood beside her as she rose from the table and taken her arm.
 
They stood by the door leading out to the deck where the pool was. The sky was sullenly ugly, the deckchairs had been removed; they were sailing into a storm. The door was locked.
 
“You stupid man. You have instructed me to wear my bathing suit under my top and shorts. Look at it outside. A spring storm is brewing. Now you’ve gotten my freezing.”
 
“Stop acting like a silly teenager,” Randall told her sternly. “The temperature inside here is the same as before you peered outside. Nothing has changed expect my desire to change your mindset.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because you apparently have not learned to live. And that’s why we had that aborted fuck last night.”
 
“Don’t use that word within my hearing.”
 
“Sorry. And that’s why we had a fuck that didn’t work out last night.”
 
She stared at his mocking face. “Fuck you,” she spat and was aghast to see him grin hugely.
 
“What?”
 
“You’ve just proved to me you can emote.”
 
She turned and walked away to prepare to practice. She expected him to run after her but he didn’t. She smiled and thought, “I am found me a man!”
 
During the day she saw him three times. Once playing cards, once with a young woman all over him, her hand practically down the front of her pants but it they’d done it they must have been quick because she saw him again twenty minutes later at lunch where he nodded to her as she went to a table where she knew some of the people.
 
Before Gwen had finished pecking at her food Randall was beside her. Making no attempt to lower his voice he said, finding his Australian accent, “Say babe, care to spend this afternoon in bed with me. The storm gathers.”
 
Gwen colored and noted the men at the table looked angry while all but one of the women smirked. One of the men stood, squaring his shoulders and said, “Now look here Jones.”
 
A companion opposite said, “Careful Andrew, Jones was a rowing and boxing blue at Cambridge I believe.”
 
“Well I can’t say I like it, dammit.”
 
“Boys, boys. Have tolerance for Mr Jones’ immodest behavior. He is Australian and their men are in the habit of fucking any woman in sight.”
 
Everyone around the table – and some people at adjoining tables – looked at Gwen either in surprise or in shock.
 
“Run alone Randall – I’ll order dinner for two at 8:30 in my cabin tonight. Bring your sleepwear. We have heard the announcement that all formal dining is likely to be cancelled tonight because of the storm.”
 
“Thank you milady, very nice,” Randall said with an exaggerated twang, touching his forehead with a finger. Gwen and the other women giggled, partly because they were looking at men who appeared ready to form a lynching party.
 
In her suite Gwen called and ordered dinner for 8:30 – steak cooked rare and a double serving of fries for Randall and poached salmon for herself and cream cakes and coffee.
If Randall arrived a little seedy the fries would send the rude swine to the toilet to vomit. Really, he had no right to talk to her in such an appalling manner in front of people she knew or even to talk to her in that manner. Period.
 
The storm hit to enliven the passage of the liner through the wind-whipped seas but at its peak around 6:00 Gwen was happily reading, knowing she’d been through much worst. The thought occurred to her perhaps Randall had good sea legs. That was confirmed when he arrived at 8:15 carrying a bottle of hideously expensive champagne, resplendent in his tuxedo, and whistling.
 
Whistling? She smiled and decided not to finish her hair because, well, it wouldn’t matter to him.
 
“Two of your bully boys from your table had a quiet word with me.”
 
“Oh Christ, you didn’t bop them did you?”
 
“Of course not. I’m not a violent man. I listened, nodded sagely and then invited them to a drink. They appeared pleased and said it was encouraging to be able to reform an Australian. That made me really mad.”
 
“Oh Christ.”
 
“I suggested a game of poker and left the two of them almost seven hundred bucks poorer. We parted as buddies and they said I’d played like a gentleman.”
 
“Oh, how sweet.”
 
“An hour later one of their wives came into the bar and loudly demanded I give her the money her husband had lost.”
 
“Oh dear.”
 
“I said fuck off bitch, at least your husband is not a poor loser.”
 
“Oh gawd.”
 
“A couple of Aussie guys yelled to her to piss off and the entire bar, including the women, told her to piss off.”
 
Gwen sighed, holding out two champagne flutes. “Randall my sweet, I think you had best stick around me. You are not safe to be by yourself. What was the woman’s name?”
 
“Gladys someone.”
 
“Oh Randall, you do know who to take on. Her husband Mike heads some sort of high-powered. Investigation commission that Gladys is not permitted to talk about.”
 
“Well Mike should have married a lady.”
 
* * *
 
Gwen went to the kitchen and returned carrying two glasses of wine. Stephen thought damn, that was the end of the narration for today. He’d hoped Gwen would be very graphic about the sex. He’d turned off the recorder but turned in back on, fingers shaking, after Gwen said, what I’m about to tell you Stephen is rather risqué. I trust you will oppose me when I attempt to have it removed from your manuscript – the extract I mention will written with sensitivity of course.”
 
“Of course ma’am. To your good health,” Stephen said, raising his glass.
 
* * *
 
Gwen had not consumed alcohol since lunch but guessed Randall had been drinking all afternoon but he appeared to be unaffected.
 
“Are you drunk?”
 
“No, after a few drinks I drink a jug of water and fifteen minutes later piss it all out.”
 
“You crude Australian.”
 
“Whatever you think. Now here we drink only this one bottle of champagne. I want you switched on and focused when we fuck.”
 
“Have sex sounds better.”
 
“We could have that as well.”
 
The man was impossible so Gwen attempted to laugh like she thought a whore would.
 
“Christ, you sound like a whore.”
 
She wondered what that made him?
 
Gwen took over and steered things alone so that they conversed and ate elegantly. Incredibly his manners were impeccable and his accent softened and sounded almost cultured New England. What an incredible man. She hoped he’d become brash Australian when they fucked, er, when he seduced her.
 
 
After their dinner leftovers had been taken away and Gwen returned from cleaning her teeth after he’d done the same he said, “Come sit on my knee darling. Are you wearing a bra or underpants?”
 
She blushed and said no.
 
“Good girl.”
 
Gwen turned crimson. She was thirty-six, with notches on her garter belt for many brief sexual encounters and three great affairs and here she was acting like a virgin queen. She couldn’t believe it. What was this man doing to her? Well, she soon found out. He unzipped her dress but before touching the exposed breasts kissed her slowly and thoroughly. Then he slowly began circling a nipple, making little grunts and caressing her back and shoulders, holding off as if it were the first nipple he’d seen as an adult. He then paused over it and bit the nipple. She yelped and almost flew to the ceiling.
 
“Fuck me,” she yelped breathing heavily, standing to pull up the back of her dress and turned, giving him time to unzip and pull out his handsome cock while still sitting on the lounge chair before she slowing sat down, feeling herself being shafted. It slipped in because excitement had hit her, making her wet. Randall’s hands went under her butt cheeks to control the rate of entry and when they were ready he lifted her s-l-o-w-l-y, so slowly she became desperate for him to speed up but then realized she was feeling, really feeling, each slow stroke. She dribbled through her wide-open mouth in her excitement, closed her eyes and pictured him inside her, though it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination an anatomically correct picture.
 
Just when she really felt like spurring him along, sensing a dam within her was soon to breach, Randall picked up the pace and soon she was yelling, her ass was going slap-slap against his legs and gut and he began breathing heavily and her growing arousal made her pull a breast to her mouth, perhaps for the first time when being with a man but it was difficult to remember not that it mattered. She sucked, she felt the ramming below and attempted to squeeze it and felt as if her entire body was swelling and finally she screamed c-o-m-i-n-g and went into what she believed was the biggest release in her whole life and he bucked and grunted into his release. They rested and rested and went at it again and again.
 
In the morning Gwen awoke, put on the lights and looked down on Randall and knew she was in love. She stretched and then had a wonderful idea. She slipped under the bedcovers licking her lips and found what she wanted.
 
 
 
Gwen and Randall separated at Southampton. He had a tight business schedule with his publishing interests in England and Ireland. He’d said he’d take her to Australia soon and she just smiled. Men often seemed to believe in their lies. She had a splendid concert tour of England and Scotland and then played in Paris, Brussels, Antwerp, Budapest, Frankfurt, Berlin and Leipzig and then took time off before sailing back home from France.
 
Gwen had heard from Randall three times during her tour and then the phone calls stopped so she assumed that was the end of him. But he called her in New York from Tokyo just after she’d returned from telling her agent in future she would restrict her concert tours to North America except for one-off specials if there were a demand for her offshore.
 
“Hi honey.”
 
Honey? Gwen pricked up her ears.
 
“Busy?”
 
“Not at present. I’ve just instructed my agent to cancel talks about proposed tours to South Africa and Japan.”
 
“Well, that suggests you have time to get married?”
 
Gwen gasped and almost dropped the phone. “Okay, I’m interested. But talk to me long and convincingly buster.”
 
* * *
 
Gwent sighed and took Stephen’s glass to pour them another wine.
 
When she returned she said it became rather boring after that. She are Randall were married for almost five years before he found a challenging 29-year-old. “I’ll fill in details about that marriage and our honeymoon in Australia and all the sailing we did and how I loved Melbourne so much that I agreed to stay for a month to practice and then to perform concerts over two nights. Surprisingly many Australians are really very cultured and don’t at all talk like cave men and cave women. Tomorrow we can talk about my present husband who is in Ireland being beside his ailing mother when he’s not chasing Irish sluts. And then I propose talking more about the thing above everything else Randall taught me – how to have passion for life – not only for music but for life.
 
Stephen had allowed the tape to run until he packed up to leave.
 
* * *
 
Susan lay against Stephen listening to the tape for the second time. “This is marvelous and provides such an insight into a woman who so-called informed critics had universally described as a tortured woman. You’ll have to learn why she chose not to have children and learn why she thinks her mom was such a bitch to her…so many things. So what is your opinion now?”
 
“I have an absorbing book in the making that will win the hearts and minds of readers and will be a major seller, even better than I had envisaged. It could in time as being in the top ten biographies of the past ten years.”
 
 
* * *
 
A 627-page biography, ‘The Loves of Gwen, Concert Pianist’ was released as at gala gathering on Gwendolyn Chappell’s 61st birthday, in time to ride the pre-Christmas buying spree. Gwen had insisted she be called just Gwen in the title, one of the few changes she had made. She’d left descriptive sexual encounters untouched, saying she didn’t wish to be remembered as a stuffy woman who never had fun.
 
THE END
 
 
 
 
 


© Copyright 2017 Grigor McGregor. All rights reserved.

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