The days seemed to drag by until Friday morning finally dawned. On Thursday evening, she had returned home a bit earlier than usual to tell the temp that she wouldn’t be required on the following day – news that had been received most gratefully by the woman. She hadn’t of course told Peter about her personal day, since he knew about Ulf’s visit, and had dressed as if for a normal work day. As soon as first Peter and then the kids had left the house, at around ten past eight, she popped upstairs and took off her sensible white cotton blouse. She was about to replace it with her royal blue satin blouse with bowtie and narrow plunging neckline, when she thought she’d put on some scent. Peter had bought her a bottle of her favourite Givenchy perfume for her birthday and there was still plenty left. Going into the bathroom, wearing her white push-up bra, she applied it to the key spots: behind her ears, on her neck, on her wrists, behind her knees and just a touch on her navel.
‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ she thought, taking off her skirt and her bra and putting on a grey lingerie set that matched her high-waisted figure-hugging grey skirt with ornamental black belt. She fished out a pair of low grey heels, added a few spots of Givenchy to her clothing, then headed downstairs and placed the shoes by the kitchen door, ready to slip into when she heard the key turn in the lock. It was 8.25am, so she had only five minutes left to wait, if Ulf was on time. She poured herself a mineral water and sat at the kitchen table checking her messages.
I suppose you could call it fashionably late, but for Sophia the wait was agonising. As the clock ticked around to 9 o’clock, she thought about going upstairs and changing into sweatshirt and jeans. She felt as if she had been stood up. She had just turned on the De’Longhi coffee machine when she heard the door being opened. She froze like a deer in the headlights, before telling herself to snap out of it. She had planned the whole thing down to the last detail and now she had to execute those plans. With head held high, she breezed out of the kitchen into the hall and coughed to attract the attention of Ulf, who had his back to her, as he placed the final load of shelving planks next to the others, which were leaning against the wall.
Turning round, he greeted Sophia with a laconic ‘Good morning’, as if her sudden appearance was nothing out of the ordinary. Sophia wasn’t sure, but she fancied he gave her the once over before sitting down on the doormat in order that he might take off his boots. Then, without a word, in relays he took his large bag and the planks through to the study, the entrance to which was only a matter of yards down the hall. He was wearing a carpenter’s tool belt, which housed various screwdrivers and other implements, as well as a tape measure.
He muttered his assent to Sophia’s offer of a coffee, telling her he took it black with no sugar. Sophia went off to make it, wondering if the whole idea had been a big mistake. Had she been misinterpreting his signals? Had he actually been sending any signals? When she brought him the coffee together with a piece of deli bought carrot cake, he thanked her and asked her if she was going out.
Sophia could sense the sexual tension. He had ratcheted it up with one question – not a real question seeking an answer, but a challenge to test her mettle. She was literally aquiver with desire. Holding onto the door handle to give herself support, she replied that she had much to do around the house and hoped that he would excuse her. She would bring him refreshments at eleven and they could have lunch together at one o’ clock if that suited him. He told her he had brought sandwiches and she offered to put them in the fridge for him if he’d like that. He said there was no need and she left him and went upstairs to fetch her laptop, before resuming her place at the kitchen table, so she could respond if he wanted anything. Yes, she thought, anything.
SEVEN
She was so wound up that she could barely concentrate on the emails she needed to respond to or the documents she needed to read. When she looked at the clock, it wasn’t yet ten o’clock. She badly wanted to go and check on his progress, to watch as he used his drill and his screwdriver. Drill. Screwdriver. The very words caused her to tremble. She felt herself getting wet fantasising about him carrying her upstairs and ravishing her on her bed.
About him ripping her satin blouse into shreds, about him undoing her belt with unnecessary force and hurling it across the room, about him sending the six buttons that fastened her skirt flying all over the floor as he wrenches it down to the floor, about him pushing her bra up without unfastening it to reveal her breasts, about him yanking her panties down as far as they will go before they wedge against her garter straps.
After that, he takes his dick out and, refusing to let her touch it, drives it into her pussy as he stands beside the bed, manhandling her all the while as if she were a rag doll. After using her, he packs up his things and leaves her. This part she doesn’t like. But those are the breaks. This is her fantasy and it has taken on a life of its own. She no longer owns it; it owns her.
Excited and disturbed in equal measure, Sophia pretends she needs to get a book from the study. He doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t stop his planing and his sanding. He works fast. Maybe he will be finished before lunch. Maybe he has had second thoughts about betraying Petsi. Maybe he never had any first thoughts. She asks him if he’d like a glass of mineral water. He thanks her but says no – he has his own water. She asks him what he would like for elevenses: Earl Grey, Ceylon tea, peppermint, another coffee, something cold. He says Earl Grey would be fine – milk, one sugar. She decides she’ll bring him a couple of Petsi’s macarons. She doesn’t know why. He will know that she has baked them. Well, if he wants to call the whole thing off over some macarons, then let him. She’ll find herself a real man. There must be plenty out there.
She brings a tray to the study at eleven o’clock and they take their mid-morning refreshments together. He’s noticeably more communicative and she catches him looking at her ankles and calves, while he pretends to be randomly running his eyes over the carpet as he bites into his macaron. She responds by uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She watches him as his eyes move up to her thighs and beyond. Progress is definitely being made.
She asks him what time he thinks he will be through, and he says he will probably have everything done by lunch, bar the first coat of the resin-tung oil with which he will coat the wood. Sophia’s heart leaps when she realises that he is creating a pretext for spending the afternoon with her; she knows coating the shelves isn’t a time-consuming job. He tells her he will need to come back and apply a second coat over the weekend. That means meeting Peter. Well, she is a good enough actress to pretend that she is meeting him for the first time too.