Jason had slept sporadically. The anticipation of his date the next day had played havoc with his nerves. He had dreamt of driving over to pick Cleo up and then not remembering where she lived. The panic had woken him and once he was awake he had begun to think about everything they had discussed and had then realised that he hadn’t asked for, nor had she volunteered, her telephone number. He did know where she lived but he didn’t know her surname. How had he been so negligent? Then he started to worry about what he would wear. He had dozed again and then had jerked awake at seven, afraid that he would over-sleep. This time he got up, showered leisurely, and got dressed in some casual black trousers with a blue shirt and black leather jacket. It didn’t look too dressy but not scruffy either. He tried to boost his confidence by saying that she had agreed to go out with him, not his clothes. He had looked a bit rough yesterday and she hadn’t been put off. Somehow, his reasoning hadn’t quite worked because he still felt jittery.
Cleo hadn’t fared any better. She had ruminated for hours before finally going to sleep. She didn’t date because she didn’t want the complications that were inevitably created in any relationship. It would end with someone getting hurt; she had seen it happen time and again around her. How often had she been aware of the domestic problems of her employees? Her one attempt of ‘bonding’ had finished with recriminations being hurled back and forth, putting the blame for its failure on the other. If she hadn’t swept that experience under the carpet some eight years ago, there would have been little chance that she’d have accepted Jason’s invitation. Awake early, she showered. She hadn’t thought about clothes when she had agreed to go but now she looked at her limited wardrobe of jeans, jeans and jeans. She just hoped he didn’t plan to try and impress her with some expensive, exclusive place that would frown on them.
She sighed, wondering how she had been so weak as to accept his proposition when she normally made a point of keeping her distance from any suggestion of personal involvement. Anyway, she rationalized, it needn't be more than this once. She was hardly making any great sacrifice by spending the day with him. Originally, this was supposed to have been time for herself gardening or visiting the area, however, it was flexible since nothing had been carved into granite. If this day proved to be a waste, there still remained tomorrow to relax and recuperate. The experience could be added to others to reinforce her determination not to date.… This train of thought did not make her feel any easier.
Jason was punctual. The door’s knocker had reverberated in the empty hallway despite only two light taps. Cleo had been ready for more than an hour so was prepared to leave without inviting him in. She hadn’t wanted to prolong the date in any way but as soon as she had opened the door and found him standing on the doorstep, she was incapable of any reasonable thought. His timid smile had melted all her defences; he had fused her to the spot where she stood.
“Hi Cleo. Ready to go?” He had tilted his head slightly with the question.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his glossy, raven black hair or his ‘oh so blue’ eyes or the white teeth, just visible as his smile increased. There was something about him that hypnotized her and she hated to think that it would be so easy to join the queue of women who desired him in some way or other.
“I’m afraid that I only have jeans with me, so I hope that is all right?” It was lucky that she had been able to speak without muttering or stuttering.
“Anything you wear would be all right. You have the bearing to carry it off.” He replied perfectly truthfully. It was enough to make her smile and ease her tension. Before she could see it coming, he had taken her hand and pulled her out of the house. She had stiffened, afraid that he was going to kiss her but he had leaned behind her to pull the door shut before pulling her down the path towards his car. His enthusiasm was infectious. She was now looking forward to their breakfast while wondering what he had planned for the rest of the day.
It was easy to see that he favoured black. His Peugeot 406 was black with black leather seats. He merged with the car as he took her down country lanes on a mystery tour to breakfast. He finally pulled in to what must have been a coaching inn in the nineteenth century or earlier. It literally took her breath away with its low eaves and gables under which sat mullioned windows. Inside, the low, oak beamed ceiling had to be original. The fireplace at one end of the room had a small gas fire in an open grate that imitated perfectly the coal fire of distant times. The wooden tables and chairs, the pews, the framed pictures, the candleholders and plates on the wall and any number of other details added to the illusion of an inn two hundred years ago. Perhaps some of them were authentic. As she looked around, through an archway she noted the wooden bar, which was handling the Sunday morning breakfast rush but which would quickly adapt to its drink selling when the 'regulars' began to arrive. A thrill of excitement ran through her and she turned to Jason to congratulate him on knowing about this ‘petit bijou’, little jewel. He was delighted by her obvious appreciation of the place. He took her hand again and pulled her towards the bar saying,
“There’s someone I’d like ya ta meet.”
The manager turned out to be one of his best friends from school days. It explained how he had known about the place but, in fact, it had been more complicated than that because they had lost contact with each other when they had been in their teens. It was thanks to a job that had needed doing, two years ago, that he had rediscovered his friend after sixteen years. He was a regular visitor now, although Mike had let it drop that it was the first time he had come accompanied. The thought had, surprisingly, pleased Cleo.
They found themselves a table for two in a corner near to a window. Breakfast had been delicious and time had passed without them noticing it. They had wandered outside to sit and talk under a May sun and in no time at all they were having a simple ploughman’s lunch with a glass of cider each. They were both a little sorry to leave but it was with promises to Mike that they would be back soon.
Each time Jason took her hand to lead her somewhere, it became more natural, so that by the time they were on their way for the visit of the stately home, he had only had to hold out his hand for her to take it. They were both happy for the excuse to touch hands because it was subconsciously the prelude to something more sensual. Jason’s long strong fingers with their rough skin were masculine to their very tips. His palms might have been callused but they were supple enough to envelop Cleo’s hand and take command. Because she had finally given him her hand voluntarily, it had been the first step to acknowledging his dominance. She already sensed the harnessed force that he contained. It frightened her to lose her usual control but at the same time, it thrilled her. That was the effect he was having on her – frightening and yet thrilling.
As they visited the rooms in the house-cum-museum, her mind kept shifting back to the hand holding hers. For the very first time, she relaxed, free of her years of decision making, of being the one to exact what she wanted. Today, she had only needed to follow, to be led by the big warm hand.