Fit For Purpose by Julian Parrott (scary books to read .TXT) 📗

in, parked, and caught a Tube train at the, now familiar, Watford Junction. He liked the first part of the train journey, above ground, watching London go about its life and business from the comfort of the train seat before the life of the city was replaced by the blackened Victorian brick of the Tube. Tom changed to the Central Line at Harrow and Wealdstone listening to his music for a further forty minutes before the train pulled into Convent Garden and his date with Nia.

Nia had asked Tom to meet her in the Duke of Wellington pub just east of the old market. He was early but she had been even earlier. Tom could see her waiting in the pub through its broad, street facing windows. He stopped on the street and watched her for a moment. He was so relieved. He knew that he had never felt the depth of emotion that he now held for Nia. He was anxious to see her again, to hear her voice, to make her laugh, to touch her body. He watched her a little longer as she sipped a red wine, she was self-possessed and self-contained exuding a confidence, some would say diffidence, that he suspected was a self-defence mechanism.

Tom entered the pub and saw Nia to his left sitting on a high stool, her winter coat on another stool, reserving it for him. She stood up when he came into the pub. She was elegant in grey suede boots, jeans, a lavender shirt, and blue cardigan. They embraced and Nia pulled Tom to her and held him closer and tighter. Tom touched her cheek and they kissed.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello, Mr Price,” Nia said formally with a giggle and held out her hand. He took it and shook it politely. They both laughed.

Tom took off his Barbour and scarf. He was already warm. Nia noticed his small rucksack.

“Packing light,” she laughed.

“Always,” he responded.

They talked like old friends and any nervousness on reconnecting quickly dissipated. He bought her another wine and a Peroni for himself. They held hands and Nia leant over, wobbling on her the high stool and Tom kissed her. They got lost in each other. After another round of drinks, the pub filled with a happy and obstreperous Friday night crowd. Nia only had eyes for Tom as the little dramas of life played on around them. It grew too loud to have a comfortable conversation and Nia nodded towards the door and Tom signalled agreement; it was time to go.

Nia took him to a small subterranean club for tango dancing. She was good, of course, she had learned to dance for a few of her roles. Yoga and Pilates kept her limber and she moved fluidly. He was rubbish but enjoyed the feel her body so tight against his that he could feel the muscles of her thigh press against his as their sweat co-mingled. They moved across the dance floor together, alone among the crowd. After their dancing was over Nia took him through the city to a quiet wine bar where Tom, feeling peckish, ordered a meat and cheese plate for two that turned out to be the most expensive he’d ever encountered. Together they ate and glowed with wine and new romance.

They taxied back to the hotel, happy and tipsy. In their room, Tom unpacked his rucksack while Nia drew a bath. She invited him into the large marble bathroom. There, she had lit some candles, the bath bubbled appealingly with the aroma of lavender essential oils, while a bottle of champagne chilled next to two flutes. She stepped towards Tom and pulled up his cotton sweater. She unbuttoned his chinos and pulled them down to his ankles. Tom started to speak but Nia simply hushed him. He stepped out of his trousers. Nia stepped back and unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall behind her. She rolled her jeans down and off her legs. She wore plain white panties with lace edging and matching bra. Tom removed the rest of his clothes and held her in his arms. He unlatched her bra and gently removed it. Her nipples had budded with desire. She sat on the side of the bath and Tom pulled her panties down, delighting in the arch she made with her body so he could ease them down over her bottom. He kissed her knees and then slowly made his way up higher to the inside of her legs. She parted her legs as he reached the top of her thighs. He kissed her there and she moaned with delight. Nia reached down and stroked his hair as he continued to intimately kiss and stroke her sex. After she climaxed, they made love on towels laid out on the marble tiles. Then they lay together in the bath drinking champagne. Nia’s back was to Tom’s chest while he ran a hand through her thick hair, although neither said anything they were lost in similar thoughts.

The next day was a cold crisp winter day suffused with the kind of light photographers made their careers on. London, being a great walking city, Tom and Nia walked countless streets, saw countless monuments, old and new. Nia enjoyed seeing the city, her city, through Tom’s tourist eyes. They made crude jokes about some of the ancients on the walls of the National Portrait Gallery. Nia pointed out a few portraits of people she knew or had worked with. Tom explained some archaic military rules the soldiers outside Horse Guards were required to follow. On that day, London was a city for lovers.

Nia had arranged for them to attend a play at the Wanamaker Playhouse. The playhouse was adjacent to the Globe Theatre, the large, instantly recognisable, facsimile of Shakespearian theatre which had closed for the winter. The Wanamaker was a smaller indoor theatre but still resembled its Elizabethan forebear. Tom dressed in smart blue