Lahat ng Kabanata ng Night Stands : Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

The great thing about my shift pattern was that for three weeks every month I was free during the weekdays. This meant I could play golf every day at my local club when most of my contemporaries were at work and the only people on the two eighteen-hole courses that my club boasts were the elderly and retired. Of course there were down sides to shift working too: it played havoc with my social life, such as it was, and the night shifts messed up my sleep cycle; I've never been good at sleeping during the day.My story starts at ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning in early April. The trees and hedges hadn't greened up much yet but there was a promise of renewal and re-growth in the air and the birds were going crazy and singing their heads off. I was standing at the first tee of the Lakes course waiting for the pair ahead of me to get far enough away for me to take my drive. I was looking forward to a relaxing round, maybe playing a couple of balls simultaneously and perhaps spending a

The weather was kind that day we played the Woodland course together for the first time. And again I enjoyed the experience. Sandra didn't play particularly well, in fact she played pretty dreadfully, but she remained cheerful and positive and I admired her for it. Afterwards we had a coffee in the clubhouse, which I insisted on paying for.'I was fine last week,' she said, sadly, as we examined her scorecard. 'I don't know what went wrong today.''That's golf I'm afraid,' I reassured her. 'Next time you'll be brilliant.''Can you play next Tuesday?' she asked, quickly.Taken by surprise I replied: 'Yes, I think so.''Lovely! And perhaps we could have some lunch here afterwards. What do you think?' Her face was animated. It made her look marginally prettier.'Sounds good,' I said, feeling that I was becoming ensnared, but oddly not disliking the feeling.That first lunch we had together the following week was enlightening for me, and probably for Sandra too. For the first time I le

She told me how her husband had met her and charmed her and made her feel like the ugly duckling had turned into a swan. But after a few years of marriage he had grown cold to her and had started seeing other women, sometimes flaunting it in front of her to highlight her inadequacies. 'It turned out it was about money,' she said, quietly. 'My parents are wealthy and he thought he could get his hands on their money, but dad never liked or trusted him so he didn't get a penny when we divorced; this house belongs to my parents. But by the time I'd summoned the courage to go through with a divorce it was too late to have children and that's all I ever wanted.' At this final disclosure she broke down and sobbed and I reached out to her and took her in my arms and she clung to me and I kissed the top of her head and stoked her hair and tried to comfort her as best I could. This was certainly intimate contact, though the circumstances were not what I had imagined and I felt no arousal no

She called me into the dining room just after eight o'clock. The table was gleaming cherry wood and was set with silver cutlery and white napkins; three candelabra provided intimate illumination. I was famished, which was just as well because Sandra Roberts wasn't the world's greatest cook. It didn't help that she'd tried to go beyond her ability. But on the whole it was edible and I answered her anxious queries with assurances that it was excellent. Oddly, this failing only served to make me feel a deeper warmth for her.She wouldn't let me help clear away and tidy up so it was back to the television and listening to the background clatter as she rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Eventually the kitchen and hall lights were switched off and she came into the lounge with the last of the Chablis. Then she went round turning off all the occasional lamps except for one next to the floral-patterned two-seater settee where I was sitting. By this time I was in a state of som

It was a perfect mid-summer day. After breakfast we drove a few miles into the Wolds and changed into walking boots. The paths and byways across the English countryside were dry and almost empty of people. We stopped to kiss under the shade of mighty oaks and walked hand in hand where the path was wide enough.'Does it feel funny to you? Us, I mean,' she said as we took a break to have some coffee, sitting in the grass of a meadow.'You mean our age difference?''Mostly, yes.''I don't actually know how old you are.''No,' she laughed. 'You were very gentlemanly when it was my birthday. You never asked.' She paused. 'I'm fifty-one. What about you?''I'll be twenty-nine in September,' I said, surprised. I'd thought she was older.'Only just over twenty-two years between us then. That's less than the French President and his wife.''Or Joan Collins and her husband,' I added.'There you go then.' She suddenly went serious. 'Do you want to have a relationship with me? I mean after last