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Description
Dinner was an oddly muted affair. Gerry had taken a bath just as soon as they got back to the Brooker residence. She soaked until she felt it would be impolite to hide beneath the bubbles for longer, then dried and curled her hair and dressed for the table. Both Sheila and Charlie were solicitous but she assured them that she was fine and would not cry into the chocolate soufflé. Sheila cast her several questioning looks during the aperitifs but was discreet enough not to make more probing enquiries. Conversation was quietly neutral once the table had been laid.
Dominic sat across one corner from her and met her eyes frequently as they ate, seeking her opinion on every topic. His hair was still damp from the shower and he smelled of pine needles and scented soap. She nodded from time to time but spoke very little. She felt as though she had said enough for an entire lifetime back there in the woods. Their hands and bodies alone had taken the place of a million useless words.
When he glanced at her it was like the daring contact of fellow conspirators. The food was delicious but it felt like dust in her mouth. All she could think about was touching him, being kissed and caressed by him.

Gerry made her excuses soon after dinner and retired to bed as hastily as was decent. Sheila cornered her in the hall and asked privately if she wished to talk. She sensed that that other woman had personal matters of her own that she wished to discuss, but was not in the correct frame of mind to deal with Sheila’s problems too. Pleading emotional strain she managed to avoid further interrogation but felt guilty when Sheila brought her up a glass of hot, frothy chocolate, laced liberally with rum. She drank it down in one but still slept fitfully.
So it was that she was awake, if not totally aware, a little after twelve thirty when someone tapped lightly and urgently at her bedroom door.
“Who is it?” she murmured sleepily.
“It’s me.” Dominic was trying to keep his voice as low as possible but still sounded agitated. “Can I come in?”
His words brought her fully awake, heart jumping.
“It’s not locked. You’ll have to behave though.”
“I swear.” He slipped into her room like a sleek shadow and locked the door behind him. “You have to hide me,” he said more evenly, keeping his back to the door.
Gerry sat up, running a hand through her sleep rumpled hair, eyes adjusting steadily to the faint light from the window. The room was not in any way overlooked, so she had left the curtains open. He was wearing a pale silk dressing gown that was tailored to fit a shorter, narrower, infinitely more feminine frame. The light glinted off his curls and the fine silver frames of his reading glasses. (He was terribly vain about people knowing he was near sighted and hardly ever wore spectacles in public but with her he seemed not to mind so much.) She smiled, in spite of the circumstances.
“I didn’t know you were into cross-dressing,” she said, keeping the smirk from her voice. “I’m afraid that changes everything.”
He looked down at himself, visibly puzzled, until he remembered what he had thrown on.
“It’s Sheila’s,” he explained. Then, seeming to think that this needed elaboration; “it was in the wardrobe.”
She blinked, still seeing the whole scene from a dreamlike perspective.
“It seemed more decorous than creeping around with nothing on at all,” Dominic elaborated when she said nothing.
“Why were you creeping around?” she asked.
“I wasn’t… I needed the bathroom. I’ve no en-suite. I left the bedroom door closed but it was ajar when I came back. I thought Sheila might be waiting for me, so I tiptoed up here.” He was whispering again, still pressed against her door.
“That was very gallant of you, Lord Warren,” she hissed back at him. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”
“Hide me until she gives up and goes back to her own bed?” he suggested hopefully.
“You are quite unbelievable,” she sighed.
“Thank you. You’re not the first to remark upon it.” He grinned at her. “Is that a yes? Only I’m freezing in this thing!”
“You can take the throw and sleep in the bath.” Gerry suppressed a smile, not sure if he could see her face, although she could see his clearly. He looked mortally wounded.
“You terrible witch! It’s an enormous bed! I promise to stick to my own side,” he alternately cursed and cajoled. “Please, Geraldine! My teeth are chattering. My balls are so blue I couldn’t raise a smile, even if Brad Pitt walked into the room!”
She heaved a vast sigh and settled down again towards the left-hand side of the mattress, burrowing into the pillows there. At once he darted across the room and squirreled his way under the duvet.
“Oh darling, you’re heroic!” he breathed, snuggling down into the bed and wrapping himself around her like an octopus.
“Dom! Goddess, your hands are cold!”
“Warm them up for me,” he whispered in her ear.
“You promised! You said you’d stick to your side of the bed,” Gerry protested, still wriggling in his embrace.
“I always sleep on the left,” he chuckled huskily.

That night she discovered the very depths of his devious nature, or so she liked to hope. He could be very persuasive, she already knew as much. Still, it perplexed her that he felt so much apparent passion for her when he went to extraordinary lengths to avoid sleeping with Sheila. From her own perspective, the slimmer and infinitely more glamorous Sheila Brooker was a far more tempting prospect, but then, knowing how susceptible he was to the temptation of his own sex, it was astonishing that he had the energy to fancy either of them.

“The Goddess didn’t put us all on earth intending us to stick to just one flavour,” he murmured to her in one sleepy lull between bouts of energetic lovemaking. “There are so make different types out there because we’re supposed to try them all.”
He certainly meant it as encouragement, Gerry knew but she only felt less certain. Dom was notorious, even among his fellow Covenors – who tolerated his excesses much as children would for a beloved parent – for his experimental approach to life. As Connie once put it (and their late High Priestess knew him better than any of them) If he finds a boy who’s willing, he’s generally more than able!
“You forget,” she whispered. “Where I come from, nice girls find a flavour they like and they stick to it.”
“Mmmmhmmm… but nice girls are terribly dull,” he observed languidly, stroking his fingers down her back as she rested her head on his breast.
“Excuse me! I’m a nice girl!” She scowled up at him. It was an effort, she had to twist around to glare into his eyes (or at least, his chin!)
“No, you’re not,” he answered mildly. “You’re an exotic bloom. You’re a hot-house Canna or a Bird of Paradise. I need to dust your petals with my fingers and lap up all your nectar just to be sure that you’ll stay with me.”
“Aren’t Bird of Paradise flowers terribly poisonous?” she queried, glad that the darkness hid her blushes.
“It’s well worth the risk,” he whispered, pulling her close again.

Still, she worried. The morning came and she woke alone. Even knowing that he was never a lay-abed (and for Dominic, anything after 5am was generally a lie-in) this felt wrong. She was a scarlet woman, given to moments of weakness when she allowed her lovers to have their way then sneak off like thieves in the night. It was not a comfortable feeling.
Nor was facing Sheila over breakfast. Charlie was hearty and amiable, discussing routes with Dom across that same corner of the table where she had shared stolen, conspiratorial glances with him last night. His wife was quiet and somewhat subdued. If she guessed where Dominic spent last night, she was polite enough not to allude to it, but her rigid body language spoke volumes.
Dominic, if he felt remotely uncomfortable, did not show it. He even helped Sheila with the washing up, although she insisted quite strenuously that she could manage it herself once they were on their way. Charles took the dogs for a walk and Gerry left Dom and Sheila talking quietly at the sink and went upstairs to pack.

Charles and Sheila Brooker both wished Gerry well as she got into the car and Dominic tucked her bag into the boot of the Saab. Charlie and Dom hugged one another unselfconsciously, then Dominic wrapped an arm around the slim, rigid shoulders of the little blond woman standing in the doorway looking small and cold. He kissed the crown of her head affectionately and said something no one else could hear before he slid behind the wheel.

“What did she say to you this morning?” Gerry asked as they joined the A47 near Swaffham. She had been quiet until this moment and, beyond asking how she was, Dominic had not pressed her for more whilst they traversed the country lanes between his friend’s home and the main route west. “Did she guess that you spent the night with me?”
“She didn’t guess, she probably knew,” Dom said evenly. “It’s not an enormous house, Gerry. I think she figured out that I didn’t sleep in the hall closet or the garden!”
“What did you tell her?” she persisted, keeping her eyes on the road, aware that her face was flushed.
“Nothing,” Dominic answered her coolly. “She didn’t ask and I didn’t say.”
“Are you ashamed of yourself?” she murmured, not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know.
“Of course not!” he exclaimed incredulously. “Why? Are you? Do you feel guilty now that you think someone else knows your secret?”
She said nothing, only stared out of the window as the verges flashed by. Of course she felt guilty; didn’t he know that? So what that she had known him and loved him for years? What difference did that make when he could pull her close and know that she would do just as he expected her to? He said that he loved her; but Dominic loved everyone. He used love as a cure all; as a balm for an aching heart or a wrung-out spirit. Dominic Warren made love because at the end of the day he felt better when he had someone to share his bed. He had admitted as much to her in the past.
But she could not remind him of that. She could not say the words, even when they were true. So, she said nothing.
After a mile or two had passed in silence, he exhaled an enormous breath and she sensed his frustration with her. Miserably she bent her head.
“Okay,” he said, voice heavy with the enormity of the declaration. “Cava. Bien.” And he turned on the radio with a dismissive flourish.

But Gerry knew that it was not okay. It was far from okay and would not be so for as long as she kept the truth from him. His diplomatic silence told her as much.

Description
Dinner was an oddly muted affair. Gerry had taken a bath just as soon as they got back to the Brooker residence. She soaked until she felt it would be impolite to hide beneath the bubbles for longer, then dried and curled her hair and dressed for the table. Both Sheila and Charlie were solicitous but she assured them that she was fine and would not cry into the chocolate soufflé. Sheila cast her several questioning looks during the aperitifs but was discreet enough not to make more probing enquiries. Conversation was quietly neutral once the table had been laid.
Dominic sat across one corner from her and met her eyes frequently as they ate, seeking her opinion on every topic. His hair was still damp from the shower and he smelled of pine needles and scented soap. She nodded from time to time but spoke very little. She felt as though she had said enough for an entire lifetime back there in the woods. Their hands and bodies alone had taken the place of a million useless words.
When he glanced at her it was like the daring contact of fellow conspirators. The food was delicious but it felt like dust in her mouth. All she could think about was touching him, being kissed and caressed by him.

Gerry made her excuses soon after dinner and retired to bed as hastily as was decent. Sheila cornered her in the hall and asked privately if she wished to talk. She sensed that that other woman had personal matters of her own that she wished to discuss, but was not in the correct frame of mind to deal with Sheila’s problems too. Pleading emotional strain she managed to avoid further interrogation but felt guilty when Sheila brought her up a glass of hot, frothy chocolate, laced liberally with rum. She drank it down in one but still slept fitfully.
So it was that she was awake, if not totally aware, a little after twelve thirty when someone tapped lightly and urgently at her bedroom door.
“Who is it?” she murmured sleepily.
“It’s me.” Dominic was trying to keep his voice as low as possible but still sounded agitated. “Can I come in?”
His words brought her fully awake, heart jumping.
“It’s not locked. You’ll have to behave though.”
“I swear.” He slipped into her room like a sleek shadow and locked the door behind him. “You have to hide me,” he said more evenly, keeping his back to the door.
Gerry sat up, running a hand through her sleep rumpled hair, eyes adjusting steadily to the faint light from the window. The room was not in any way overlooked, so she had left the curtains open. He was wearing a pale silk dressing gown that was tailored to fit a shorter, narrower, infinitely more feminine frame. The light glinted off his curls and the fine silver frames of his reading glasses. (He was terribly vain about people knowing he was near sighted and hardly ever wore spectacles in public but with her he seemed not to mind so much.) She smiled, in spite of the circumstances.
“I didn’t know you were into cross-dressing,” she said, keeping the smirk from her voice. “I’m afraid that changes everything.”
He looked down at himself, visibly puzzled, until he remembered what he had thrown on.
“It’s Sheila’s,” he explained. Then, seeming to think that this needed elaboration; “it was in the wardrobe.”
She blinked, still seeing the whole scene from a dreamlike perspective.
“It seemed more decorous than creeping around with nothing on at all,” Dominic elaborated when she said nothing.
“Why were you creeping around?” she asked.
“I wasn’t… I needed the bathroom. I’ve no en-suite. I left the bedroom door closed but it was ajar when I came back. I thought Sheila might be waiting for me, so I tiptoed up here.” He was whispering again, still pressed against her door.
“That was very gallant of you, Lord Warren,” she hissed back at him. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”
“Hide me until she gives up and goes back to her own bed?” he suggested hopefully.
“You are quite unbelievable,” she sighed.
“Thank you. You’re not the first to remark upon it.” He grinned at her. “Is that a yes? Only I’m freezing in this thing!”
“You can take the throw and sleep in the bath.” Gerry suppressed a smile, not sure if he could see her face, although she could see his clearly. He looked mortally wounded.
“You terrible witch! It’s an enormous bed! I promise to stick to my own side,” he alternately cursed and cajoled. “Please, Geraldine! My teeth are chattering. My balls are so blue I couldn’t raise a smile, even if Brad Pitt walked into the room!”
She heaved a vast sigh and settled down again towards the left-hand side of the mattress, burrowing into the pillows there. At once he darted across the room and squirreled his way under the duvet.
“Oh darling, you’re heroic!” he breathed, snuggling down into the bed and wrapping himself around her like an octopus.
“Dom! Goddess, your hands are cold!”
“Warm them up for me,” he whispered in her ear.
“You promised! You said you’d stick to your side of the bed,” Gerry protested, still wriggling in his embrace.
“I always sleep on the left,” he chuckled huskily.

That night she discovered the very depths of his devious nature, or so she liked to hope. He could be very persuasive, she already knew as much. Still, it perplexed her that he felt so much apparent passion for her when he went to extraordinary lengths to avoid sleeping with Sheila. From her own perspective, the slimmer and infinitely more glamorous Sheila Brooker was a far more tempting prospect, but then, knowing how susceptible he was to the temptation of his own sex, it was astonishing that he had the energy to fancy either of them.

“The Goddess didn’t put us all on earth intending us to stick to just one flavour,” he murmured to her in one sleepy lull between bouts of energetic lovemaking. “There are so make different types out there because we’re supposed to try them all.”
He certainly meant it as encouragement, Gerry knew but she only felt less certain. Dom was notorious, even among his fellow Covenors – who tolerated his excesses much as children would for a beloved parent – for his experimental approach to life. As Connie once put it (and their late High Priestess knew him better than any of them) If he finds a boy who’s willing, he’s generally more than able!
“You forget,” she whispered. “Where I come from, nice girls find a flavour they like and they stick to it.”
“Mmmmhmmm… but nice girls are terribly dull,” he observed languidly, stroking his fingers down her back as she rested her head on his breast.
“Excuse me! I’m a nice girl!” She scowled up at him. It was an effort, she had to twist around to glare into his eyes (or at least, his chin!)
“No, you’re not,” he answered mildly. “You’re an exotic bloom. You’re a hot-house Canna or a Bird of Paradise. I need to dust your petals with my fingers and lap up all your nectar just to be sure that you’ll stay with me.”
“Aren’t Bird of Paradise flowers terribly poisonous?” she queried, glad that the darkness hid her blushes.
“It’s well worth the risk,” he whispered, pulling her close again.

Still, she worried. The morning came and she woke alone. Even knowing that he was never a lay-abed (and for Dominic, anything after 5am was generally a lie-in) this felt wrong. She was a scarlet woman, given to moments of weakness when she allowed her lovers to have their way then sneak off like thieves in the night. It was not a comfortable feeling.
Nor was facing Sheila over breakfast. Charlie was hearty and amiable, discussing routes with Dom across that same corner of the table where she had shared stolen, conspiratorial glances with him last night. His wife was quiet and somewhat subdued. If she guessed where Dominic spent last night, she was polite enough not to allude to it, but her rigid body language spoke volumes.
Dominic, if he felt remotely uncomfortable, did not show it. He even helped Sheila with the washing up, although she insisted quite strenuously that she could manage it herself once they were on their way. Charles took the dogs for a walk and Gerry left Dom and Sheila talking quietly at the sink and went upstairs to pack.

Charles and Sheila Brooker both wished Gerry well as she got into the car and Dominic tucked her bag into the boot of the Saab. Charlie and Dom hugged one another unselfconsciously, then Dominic wrapped an arm around the slim, rigid shoulders of the little blond woman standing in the doorway looking small and cold. He kissed the crown of her head affectionately and said something no one else could hear before he slid behind the wheel.

“What did she say to you this morning?” Gerry asked as they joined the A47 near Swaffham. She had been quiet until this moment and, beyond asking how she was, Dominic had not pressed her for more whilst they traversed the country lanes between his friend’s home and the main route west. “Did she guess that you spent the night with me?”
“She didn’t guess, she probably knew,” Dom said evenly. “It’s not an enormous house, Gerry. I think she figured out that I didn’t sleep in the hall closet or the garden!”
“What did you tell her?” she persisted, keeping her eyes on the road, aware that her face was flushed.
“Nothing,” Dominic answered her coolly. “She didn’t ask and I didn’t say.”
“Are you ashamed of yourself?” she murmured, not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know.
“Of course not!” he exclaimed incredulously. “Why? Are you? Do you feel guilty now that you think someone else knows your secret?”
She said nothing, only stared out of the window as the verges flashed by. Of course she felt guilty; didn’t he know that? So what that she had known him and loved him for years? What difference did that make when he could pull her close and know that she would do just as he expected her to? He said that he loved her; but Dominic loved everyone. He used love as a cure all; as a balm for an aching heart or a wrung-out spirit. Dominic Warren made love because at the end of the day he felt better when he had someone to share his bed. He had admitted as much to her in the past.
But she could not remind him of that. She could not say the words, even when they were true. So, she said nothing.
After a mile or two had passed in silence, he exhaled an enormous breath and she sensed his frustration with her. Miserably she bent her head.
“Okay,” he said, voice heavy with the enormity of the declaration. “Cava. Bien.” And he turned on the radio with a dismissive flourish.

But Gerry knew that it was not okay. It was far from okay and would not be so for as long as she kept the truth from him. His diplomatic silence told her as much.