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The aroma of oregano wafted out of the kitchen. It was the first thing Leah noticed after she returned from her shopping spree. Having had their crumpets, the two friends had spent the rest of the day perusing the windows of shops and boutiques, trying on clothes and shoes.
Bolognese sauce was the cause of the smell: Rick stood in the kitchen stirring a pan. Since his return from Europe, he had gradually introduced Leah to continental-style cooking: risottos, pasta, and pizza. They shared the kitchen, taking it in turns to cook and he had surprised Leah with his culinary skills.
Over dinner, he asked about her day out with Jane. Leah made no mention of his role in their conversations. His own Saturday had been spent washing and polishing the car. It was lost on Leah how a man could lose so many hours tinkering with a car.
Mealtimes were not the best for broaching difficult subjects with Rick. She had learnt that lesson. She waited for him to fill his stomach and while she washed up, he lounged in front of the television in his favoured armchair. Most of the news bulletins covered the war in Vietnam. Rick claimed to have no love of wars, but he still had an attraction for the military life. It reminded him of his childhood adventures and he listened to the reports of escalating conflict.
She waited for him to sink down, stretch his legs out, and rest his head on the back of the chair. It was easy to sneak onto his lap and curl up, her head nestled against his shoulder. He smelt of cologne and a faint trace of motor oil too. The stubble on his chin, dark and fine, narrowed his features. The growing mop of hair was still slightly damp from his shower.
“Lovely meal, thank you,” said Leah. “Italian food is yummy.”
“Yes,” he said with brevity.
“When you were out there, did you cook much or did somebody cook for you, teach you?”
“I watched others. Why do you ask?”
“I wondered whether you had been taught by a woman, you know, a girlfriend. You don’t mention if you had a girl. Is that why you don’t like to think of Italy?” She broached the topic with trepidation, curling a finger around a button of his shirt. Underneath, Rick shifted uneasily, eyes still on the television.
“No,” he said after a pause. “I did have girls to keep me company. In Switzerland too.”
“Did you spank them too?” asked Leah.
“One girl. She asked me. They were playful, nothing serious.”
“How many girls did you date?” pushed Leah.
“I’m not going to claim I’m a saint. Sometimes it was sexual. Not as many as you think. Italy is very conservative. Girls are expected to be virgins on their wedding nights. My mother may have been a Catholic, but my dad didn’t go in for religion. I don’t feel guilty about it.”
“So no broken hearts?” she asked.
“What’s this about, Leah?” he said sharply.
“I want to know you better, that’s all,” she said, sitting up on his lap. “Why won’t you talk about it?”
“I don’t want to,” he said lamely, his eyes now on her and his arms folding across his chest, blocking her hands from touching him.
“Was it something terrible? Did you do something bad?” she persisted.
“Enough! If you carry on like this, I will take you over my lap and spank you hard!” threatened Rick.
Leah tensed, her stomach churned. “Please don’t be cross with me. I don’t want you to spank me like that. I’ve not done anything wrong. I’m trying to talk to you.” Her eyes welled up with tears, and her hands trembled as she clutched them tight together.
His face softened, arms dropped down, and he took hold of her wrists, pulling her towards him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to spank you like that either.”
Leah waited. Rick appeared to be thinking, ruminating on her words.
Stroking the back of her hands with his thumbs, he finally spoke. “I can’t talk about Italy, about my job, about anything that happened there, because I swore I wouldn’t. It’s the nature of the work I did. At least a part of it.”
“But something did happen to make you leave?”
“Yes. No more, please, Leah. I’m tired.”
“Let me help you relax,” she said; freeing her hands, she picked at his shirt buttons. Rick rested his head again, closed his eyes, and let her undo his shirt. She slid her hands across his chest, feeling his heartbeats and the firm muscles. His fingers coiled about her head, combing her hair, and it gave her an idea.
She slipped off his lap and slowly began to undress. He watched as she stripped off each layer, until she reached her knickers. With slow deliberate moves, she slid them down her thighs, turning so her bottom faced him and bent over. With a flick of her wrist, the knickers flew across the room.
