Fisherman's Point

'Pick up Gordon. Yes. It all went perfectly, thank you. I made it with about five minutes to spare.'

'Umm ... good.'

Bella told Tom about a couple of radio interviews that she had arranged. 'You can do them both over the phone,' she said. 'That's one of the nice things about radio.' She also told him that she had tentatively arranged a book-signing at Daunt Books. 'They're thinking about a Sunday afternoon. I don't know how you feel about that.'

'Yes. Fine,' Tom said.

'OK. I'll see if we can firm up on a date. By the way, speaking of Sundays, I have to be down in Rye this Saturday – a family thing – and I thought that I could come back via your place on Sunday morning. I could bring you a copy of the press pack that we've put together. Although, of course, I don't want to get in the way if you're planning to work.'

'Sunday? No. Sunday would be great. In fact, you know, any time really.'

'OK,' Bella said. 'Probably around eleven-ish?'

'Perfect.' Perfect? Well, almost. There was still the shadow of Gordon. But at least Tom was going to see Bella again. And, anyway, perhaps Gordon was just 'a friend'. Nothing too serious. Nothing too permanent.

On Saturday, Tom went into town and bought a plump free-range chicken and various other bits and pieces – including a couple of bottles of decent Côtes d'Azur rosé. He ended up paying about twice what he normally paid for a bottle of wine, but it was all in a good cause.

On Sunday, Tom awoke early. He tried to tell himself that it was just another day. But he knew that it wasn't.

He pulled on a pair of shorts and gave the cottage a bit of a spring clean. He even tidied up his work room. Bella hadn't asked to see it on her previous visit, but better to be prepared. And then he made himself some coffee and some toast and went out onto the deck. The fine weather had returned. There were a few wispy clouds on the horizon, but Tom was almost certain that they would be gone by eleven – if not before.

Before he had gone to bed the previous evening, Tom had spatchcocked the chicken, removing the backbone and the keel bone, flattening it out, and settling it in a marinade of black pepper (lots of black pepper), lemon juice, lemon zest, and olive oil. He now removed the chicken from the fridge and set it on the kitchen counter to let it come back up to room temperature. He also peeled some potatoes and cut them into golf ball-sized chunks.

And then it was time for a shower, a fresh pair of baggy shorts, and a much-loved polo shirt.

It was 10:30 and Bella had said eleven-ish. Given that Sunday morning traffic was likely to be light, there was always the possibility that she might arrive early. Tom ground some coffee beans and filled the kettle with water. But eleven o'clock came and went.

At 11:20, Tom drained most of the water off the potatoes, covered the bowl they were in with cling film, and set the timer on the microwave for three minutes. Once they were pre-cooked, he would roast them off in some goose fat. Oh well, if Bella didn't come, he was going to be eating grilled chicken alla diavola with roasted potatoes and mixed leaf salad for several meals to come.

And then there came the unmistakable sound of a car door closing, followed, a few seconds later, by the sound of footsteps on the wooden deck. 'Hello?'

'Oh, hello. You found your way then.'

'It would seem so,' Bella said, placing a fat folder on the table. 'I'm here.' And she gave Tom an enthusiastic hug and a kiss on the cheek.

'I was just about to make some coffee.'

'Oh, great.' And then she said: 'I have Gordon in the car. I hope you don't mind.'

'Umm ... mind? Umm ... no. No, of course not. No. You'd better tell him to come in.'

While Bella went to fetch Gordon, Tom, his spirit now dented, reflected on the fact that at least he had plenty of food. And there were two bottles of rosé. If worst came to worst, he could just get slightly pissed.

Once again there came the unmistakable sound of a car door closing, and once again the sound of footsteps on the deck. And then: 'No, Gordon. You stay out here – there's a good boy.'

Tom turned to see a brown and white English springer spaniel, its tail swishing from side to side like a windscreen wiper on its highest speed setting, looking up at him expectantly. 'This is Gordon?'

'This is Gordon.'

Tom suddenly felt much happier. 'Do you really want coffee?' he said. 'Or would you prefer a glass of wine?'

Bella hesitated. But only for a moment. 'Oh, go on then.'

Tom retrieved one of the bottles of rosé and a couple of wine glasses. 'Cheers. It's really nice to see you again.'

Bella smiled and raised her glass. 'To the Camberley Prize.'

'Yes, I suppose so. In more ways than one. Oh, and by the way, I assume that you will stay for lunch?'

Bella laughed. 'Well, it wasn't my intention. But given that I know how clever you are in the kitchen, how could I decline? Thank you. That would be nice. Although I should have brought a bottle of wine or something.'

'Oh, I think we'll manage,' Tom said.

It was the first time that Tom had seen Bella wearing a dress. When they had first met, Bella had been wearing a business-like suit – black, with a deep blue silky shirt underneath. And when she had come out to the cottage to take Tom's photograph, she had been dressed for the promised inclement weather in practical chino-style trousers and a wax jacket. But now, on this sunny Sunday in early May, she was looking particularly feminine in a pale pink dress, with a white cardigan, and hot pink sandals. 'You're looking very nice,' Tom said.

Bella smiled her endearing and slightly lop-sided smile. 'Thank you,' she said. 'It's nice to finally reach that part of the year when it is not necessary to be perpetually buried beneath five layers of clothing. I do enjoy the freedom of the summer months.' And she flounced the skirt of her summery dress and smiled again. Was she flirting? Tom thought so. He also thought that he had probably better put the potatoes into the oven. They would need at least half an hour.

When Tom returned to the deck, Bella had removed her cardigan. 'And so goes another layer?' Tom said.

Bella smiled. 'Well ... this is a nice spot; a nice little sun trap.'

'On a good day, yes, hard to beat,' Tom said. 'Not Spain, of course.'

'But I imagine in late August ....'

'Well, still not Spain – unfortunately. Although I suppose you could still try for an all-over tan.'

Bella nodded. 'I'd be game.'

Yeah. I reckon you probably would too, Tom thought. And he pictured Bella, lying back, naked, her eyes closed, the sun kissing her body. It was ... well, it was a very pleasant – and rather erotic – image. 'And acquiring an all-over tan ... is this something you do on a regular basis?'

Bella smiled and shook her head. 'In England?' she said.

Tom nodded. 'I think I should go and put the grill on.'

'Can I do anything?'

'No. Everything's under control. But thank you.'

'Well, in that case, do you mind if I just take Gordon for a little walk? I promise to keep him away from those Herring Gulls.'

'Don't worry, the gulls will spot him from a mile away. They're used to dogs on their beach.'

Tom went back into the kitchen, rearranged the roasting potatoes, and turned on the grill. (One of the little luxuries that Tom and Karen had allowed themselves when they were updating the kitchen was a new gas cooker with a four-burner hob, an oven, and a separate grill.) And, by the time that he had rinsed a few assorted lettuce leaves and herbs and put them into the salad spinner, the grill was ready for the chicken.

As was his habit, Tom started with the chicken skin side up. And then, after ten minutes or so, he turned it over. And then, after a further ten minutes, he turned it back again, skin side up, basted it with some of the marinade, and let it finish cooking.

Bella's timing was perfect. By the time she arrived back from her beach walk with Gordon, the potatoes were done, the chicken was resting, and Tom was finishing off the salad.

'I wonder if I could just grab some water for Gordon?' Bella said.

Tom started to look in the cupboard for a suitable dish.

'It's OK, I have his bowl,' she said. 'We travel prepared.'

Tom nodded. 'I see. And did you bring his bed? You know, just in case he needs an afternoon nap.'

Bella smiled her distinctive smile.

Lunch was everything that Tom had hoped that it would be and more. The food, the wine, and the late spring weather combined perfectly. But it was the company that was the highlight. And now that Tom had discovered that Gordon was a dog, even his presence added something to the occasion.

'I think that I might need to avail myself of the bathroom,' Bella said.

'It's the second door on the right.'

While Bella was away, Tom refilled their wine glasses, and then pushed his chair back from the table and stretched out his legs.

'Have you and Gordon been a couple for long?' Tom asked, when Bella returned.

'Hmm ... about five years,' she said. 'I rather snatched him from the cradle.'

'When his mother's back was turned, I suppose.'

'I don't think that she minded. In fact, I suspect that she may have been glad to see the back of him. She had two other pups and Gordon was definitely showing signs of being a trouble maker.'

Tom nodded. Somehow he could imagine Gordon as a trouble maker. 'So ... what would you like to do now?' he asked.

'Do you have a Monopoly board?'

'Monopoly? No.'

'Scrabble?'

'Umm ... no. I used to have a chess board – you know, just a basic one, cardboard, something like that. Nothing fancy. But I seem to have lost that somewhere along the way. So, no, no board games at all, really.'

'Good. In that case, unless I'm totally misreading your signals, perhaps you'd like to take me to bed. Or even just take me here in this patch of glorious sunshine.'

Of all of the things that Bella could have said, this was perhaps the one that Tom would have most liked her to say. And yet it was the one that he had least expected. 'I see,' he said.

Bella stood up again and raised the hem of her pink sun dress to reveal a neatly trimmed patch of thatch. 'And do you like what you see?'

Tom nodded. 'I do.'

Bella took a couple of paces towards him, reached out and took his hand, and placed it on her warm pussy. 'There's something about good food, nice wine, and sunshine that makes me feel quite randy.'

'So it would seem.'

'And you?' Bella said, reaching for Tom's crotch.

'In my case, I think that it might have rather a lot to do with the company,' he said.

While Tom's fingers explored Bella's warm soft crevice, she unbuckled his belt, lowered his zip, and freed his growing cock. 'Nice,' she said. 'Very nice. Far too nice to keep shut away on a beautiful day like this.'

As their respective fingers worked their magic, their lips met in a kiss that was at first tentative, exploratory, and then unquestionably passionate. 'Well, that was nice too,' Bella said. And then she bent down and took Tom's still growing cock in her mouth.

Tom smiled and nodded. 'Mmm. And speaking of nice ....'

For perhaps three or four minutes Bella sucked and licked Tom's cock, massaging its head with her tongue, while with the fingers of her right hand she gently stroked the underside of his scrotum. And then she paused and slipped her fingers into her bra. Tom expected her to reveal a breast, but instead she produced a foil-wrapped condom.

'My ... you do travel prepared,' Tom said.

Bella just smiled, tore open the packet, removed the condom, placed it on the tip of Tom's now-rigid cock, and then gently rolled it down. 'There. Ready?'

'When you are,' Tom said.

Bella lifted her skirt up around her waist giving Tom his first proper glimpse of her beautiful naked arse, and then she backed onto Tom's condom-clad cock. 'Oh, yes. That feels perfect. Just perfect,' she said. (And Tom thought so too.)

What started with perfection continued perfectly for a good ten minutes or so, and then Bella's breathing got shorter (and not just from all the bobbing up and down), and she made a sound that was half laugh and half squeal. 'Oh, yes!' she said. 'Oh, fuck, yes.'

And then it was Tom's turn.

Bella had just removed herself – gingerly – from Tom's now-wilting cock when Gordon – who had been quietly dozing in the sun – suddenly perked up, sniffed the air, and let out a little growl. Perhaps five seconds later, a black and white fox terrier bounded around the corner, leapt up onto the deck, and stood in front of Gordon, wagging not just its tail but its whole rear end.

'Milly. Oh, shit!' Tom muttered and hastily pulled up his shorts, his wilting cock still in its protective wrapper. He had just finished re-buckling his belt when a middle-aged woman appeared.

'Oh, sorry,' she said. 'I hope I'm not interrupting. I just thought you might like some eggs.' And she placed an egg tray with a dozen eggs on the table.

'Interrupting? No. Not at all. We, umm, had just, umm, finished. Oh ... and this is Bella. Bella, Heather. Heather farms free-range chickens – just down the road.'

'Oh, yes. I think I probably drove past your place on my way across from Rye,' Bella said. 'Nice to meet you.'

'Likewise. And, yes, you would have.'

'Let me get you a wine glass,' Tom said. 'This rosé is really rather nice.'

'Well, I don't want to crash your, umm, lunch or anything.'

'Nonsense. In fact, try a bit of chicken. Bella and I are just enjoying this beautiful day, aren't we?'

'We are. And it is a beautiful day. A perfect day. I can't imagine a better one,' Bella said.

Bella didn't go back to London that night.