The room we entered was almost as big as the floor space of my entire house, but it was no more than the kitchen and dining room. Inside was warm and cosy. He took my coat and hung it up in a cloakroom that was as big as my kitchen. Out of the window at the end of the room I could see the motorway winding its way north. The traffic was moving smoothly. Nearer, were lights from white to golden orange and all shades in between. A few coloured lights glinted here and there. Leading off this first room was the lounge, as big as the previous room. Here the view was just as Crispin had described it. St Ethan’s church was floodlit in the distance and houselights all around gave the impression of candles at Christmas. It was beautiful. If I won the lottery, I would want to live somewhere with views like this. I couldn’t begin to guess how much it would cost. The next room was the guest bedroom and had similar views. There were paintings on the wall that looked like originals. A man lying in the grass with a woman’s head in his lap, and a nude reclining on a beach. It could have been the same woman but I couldn’t be sure. But the master bedroom was the piece de resistance.
The bed was enormous. It must have been six feet wide and the sheets and pillowcases were of black silk. Did he have someone come in and make the bed each day? I had never seen a more perfectly made bed in a hospital or a hotel. There were pictures on the wall again. Another of the same nude woman, this time sitting in a rocking chair and a second one of two women, younger than the other woman. They looked as if they were about to kiss. So far I had been awe struck by the views from every room. So why was I disappointed by the view from this one? I believe Crispin expected me to be disappointed, at first. “I think you’ll appreciate it better with the light off,” he suggested as he turned out the light. Slowly, the sky lit up. The stars that a few seconds ago were nowhere to be seen were now adorning the sky like a million lights reflected from a diamond chandelier. I felt his presence behind me as I admired the scene. Together we stood silently for a minute or more. Words couldn’t express how wonderful the view was. And then, with the lightest of touches, I felt his hand moving my hair aside and then he kissed my neck.
No one had ever done that before, and I was unprepared for the shock waves it sent through my body. The room was warm, and yet I shivered. And then he kissed my neck again, a little further round. I shivered again. The third time he kissed my ear. How could I have such an erogenous zone and never know it? I nearly stumbled as my legs felt weak. He put his hand round my waist to stop me falling. He kept nibbling my ear, a sensation I found so sensuous that I was already moaning with delight. His hand that had been round my waist now cupped my breast as he whispered in my ear. “The beauty of this room is that the view is just as good from the bed. And we don’t need curtains because no one overlooks us.” He turned me round and kissed me. I knew my principles of making a man wait for sex had just sailed out of the great picture window. Neeta once told me that if you fall off a bike, you get on again quickly to prove you’re not afraid. I’d fallen off the bike four months ago. Now was the time to get on again. I wanted to lie in that bed and look at the view. I wanted him to make love to me.
If my desire was urgent, it seemed that was not the case for him. Slowly he undressed me and then himself. We stood naked at the window, drinking in the star studded picture in front of us. Crispin nibbled my ear, sending me wild with desire, while at the same time his hands caressed me. After what seemed like a lifetime, he led me to the bed and we made love for the first time. It was worth waiting for as my body reached orgasm after orgasm. I had never known a man with such energy and stamina, or who satisfied me so much.
We lay side by side for several minutes, neither saying a word, just enjoying the view. And then I felt him stirring again. And again he was nibbling my ear and caressing me. Our second lovemaking was just as energetic and satisfying as the first. Eventually we slept.
When I awoke, the sky was bright. I heard Crispin moving about in the kitchen as I walked to the window and looked out. There had been a heavy frost again, and the few bushes on Edgar’s Marshes were like white Christmas trees. His hands crept round my body and cupped my breasts. He was naked as well and I could tell he had things on his mind other than breakfast. I have never made love three times in less than twelve hours before, but it was exhilarating. I realised that finding Jake and Neeta together hadn’t been the disaster I’d imagined. It was the best thing that could have happened to me. Crispin was the best thing that had happened to me. Life was funny. Four months ago, I felt my life had disintegrated. I had gone from being a happy, working, wife to a desperately unhappy woman in twenty four hours. Now in another twenty four hours, I had gone from being a timid woman, frozen and uncertain what to do, to one deliriously happy.
Crispin asked if I had any plans for that day, the Sunday. I didn’t, but felt I should go home and get some clean clothes. “Don’t bother, sweetheart,” he laughed. “I like you just the way you are, and no one is going to see us.” We spent most of the day in bed, caressing each other, getting to know what we liked, if there was anything we didn’t like. There wasn’t. We made love twice more before I said I had to go home. I had work to go to in the morning. “Call in sick,” he suggested as he started to make my body ache for him again. It was no good. My resolve was defeated. The clouds had started to move in that night and rain was forecast before morning. There were no stars to watch that night. For the first time in four months I slept solidly for eight hours. Crispin watched me open my eyes and then made love to me again.
It was a little after noon when the phone rang. Crispin was wanted at the office urgently. We dressed quickly and the Mercedes that had been our taxi on Saturday was waiting for us as we exited the building. McTavish, as Crispin called the driver, dropped Crispin off at his office, an impressive Georgian building near the centre of town, and took me home.