June

"Er... George thinks she's a great girl with a really nice face, and he truly loves her company. Will that do for now?"

"That's much better, yes. You know, what would you say if I ask her over for dinner, too? I can just say it's because she didn't seem to have too much of a good time at my party, either..."

"Mary! You're wonderful!"

Mary-Anne grinned. She usually hated it when people abbreviated her name but in George it somehow gave her a warm feeling. He was a really nice man, notwithstanding his forbidding job, and Edward, her husband, always enjoyed his presence as much as she did. George had become far too much of an einzelgänger to her liking; she would welcome seeing him in a relationship again.

"If she accepts, do tell me, won't you? I can pick her up then."

"But she doesn't live your way at all!"

George sighed. "I know. And there's no reason why she couldn't go by tube, or use her own car - if she has one... But I'd just like to make sure."

"Fair enough," Mary-Anne said. "I will let you know!"

When she'd hung up George sat staring at Joan's portrait for a long time, wondering what it was that made him think of June so much, and if it wasn't unfair to Joan. But he supposed Joan wouldn't want him to stay alone for the rest of his days. Better go to sleep, he decided.

Mary-Anne duly invited June over for dinner that weekend, and June accepted with alacrity when she heard George would come, too. It made Mary-Anne smile a little. From what she knew of the two of them she thought they might eventually make a good couple, and she'd be really happy for them.

June had a very busy week. George had been right about the police wanting to have her statement. She went to the station twice, and it took her a long time to supply them with all the information they wanted. Moreover she had to be home fast one day to receive the painters for her new back door. She'd been a little anxious it would be very expensive, but the police footed the bill.

She wondered if she could find a plausible reason to contact George, but she was too busy to find a good excuse. Oh well, she was looking forward to Saturday when they would see each other at Mary-Anne's. The tube would be quite safe again, she thought with a sigh. It still didn't feel good, though.

To her delight George called her to ask if it was okay if he picked her up on his way there. She objected pro forma, but George overrode her objections, as she had hoped and expected, and arranged to pick her up at 15:30.

That Saturday June was all dressed up and ready to go at least half an hour early. She'd spent the morning doing the shopping for some clothes and for victuals for the coming few days, and then she'd made herself a pot of coffee and practised the oboe. But after lunch she'd not felt at ease enough any more, although the unease was rather different from last weekend's. She wore a new pair of shoes and a new sweater, and she'd bought a new lipstick in a muted red that made her mouth look even more expressive.

Joan couldn't have had anything against it, and George noticed it straight away as she emerged from the depths of her house. June looked marvellous, he thought. He opened the door of his car for her and made a small bow as she sat down in the car. She flashed him a brilliant smile that made his stomach do things that hadn't happened to him for a long, long time and that he'd never expected to feel again. He smiled back happily, got into the car and drove off.

On their way to South Norwood he found out that June didn't have a car. She had her driving licence, but parking costs combined with the little use she'd put a car to had made her decide she didn't want one as yet. She seldom went away and when she did there was public transport enough. What she did like was go to concerts and to the theatre. Stratford was on her wish list, and she highly enjoyed the occasional visit to the Royal Albert Hall. Acoustics were phenomenal, weren't they?

George agreed. He seldom went there, but the few times he did were great. He did love music but he usually listened to CDs. His record collection was still in use, too. And he loved books - "I guessed as much!" June said - and he also went to theatre.

"There's Samuel Beckett on next weekend," he said. "Would you like to come?"

"Oh yes, please!" June said. "It must be nice to go together!"

George looked at her for a moment. Her smile filled him with a kind of wolfish happiness and deep desire. He immediately told himself not to be daft, but a little voice inside protested and said that maybe, maybe...

The Dubois' house came into view, and George concentrated on crossing the rather busy road and parking his car in the drive. They'd already been noticed. Before George could ring the bell the front door opened, and Mary-Anne received them, beaming and giving them each a big hug. She took their coats and led them into the living-room. Without the groups of guests its beautiful proportions were much more obvious. There was a bright fire burning in the grate, and Edward rose to greet them, and asked them what they'd want for drinks. George settled for a glass of red wine, just the one, as he was driving, and June kept him company.

"No whisky?" Edward said.

"No thank you," June said with a smile. "I don't usually drink spirits, only sometimes before bed or when I'm very upset, I'm afraid."

Edward nodded. "We found the fellow that upset you in a couple of pictures that were taken that evening. He didn't come with Jill, by the way. Do you think the police would be interested?"

"George?" June asked.

George nodded. "Certainly," he said. "Very much so!"

"Good," Mary-Anne said. "Let's change the subject and talk about nice things then, shall we?"

They did. June found that she quite liked Edward's sense of humour, to Mary-Anne's relief as it had put off a good few of their visitors. George was impermeable to any friendly sting Edward might try to give and invariably gave him a broad grin, so that never caused any problems. During the course of the afternoon George found to his delight that June was far better read than he'd expected, though she mainly read modern literature.

Mary-Anne introduced Joan into the conversation to find June really interested. She learnt a lot about George. He was quite gentle and he was also a strictly moral person who could be very unforgiving when people crossed the line of what he saw as acceptable behaviour. She smiled a little at some of the things he said.

Mary-Anne thought June was apparently far more self-contained than she'd initially thought. It was probably because of all the tension that she'd seemed slightly girlish at times, a small, shivering cold bird on a telephone wire, all feathers puffed up. Now she was at ease, she was very different, a pleasant young woman with poise. The fact that Edward liked her a lot spoke volumes. He had no use for people that pretended to be any other than they actually were.

George sat looking at June like a boy looking at the lights in the Christmas tree, enthralled and spellbound. Mary-Anne, who had known him since he'd fallen in love with Joan, thought he must be falling for her in a really hard way - he'd looked a little like that at Joan then. She'd sometimes wondered about George and Joan. Joan had been very outspoken in her ideas, where George wasn't, unless he thought something was really terribly wrong or unjust. June and he might be a little more equal, she expected. Better keep her fingers crossed, she decided. It might come to nothing, after all.

Dinner was a big success. Mary-Anne was a good cook, and the atmosphere even surpassed the food. There was a homemade mushroom soup, and a Sunday roast as the main course. June felt very happy. For the first time in years there was nothing weighing her down. She felt safe here, and valued, and the physical presence of George made her feel warm inside.

They concluded the meal with cheese and biscuits, and then coffee. Mary-Anne declined June's offer to help do the washing-up. "We'll take care of that, dearie," she said. "We've got a good dishwasher. I think you'd better go and sample the London traffic now."

George nodded, and they took their leave. Mary-Anne kissed them goodbye, and Edward and she stood in the front door and waved as George reversed the car and drove off.

"They're really old friends of yours, aren't they?" June said.

"Yes. I've known them for over fifteen years. Edward is a character - you've made a real hit with him. He can be absolutely scathing when he dislikes people... And Mary-Anne is a real dear. She will try and make you feel quite at home."

June nodded. She had felt at home all right. "I hope I may come again some time. They are really very nice."

"I wouldn't wonder," George said. "It was a lovely day." He turned his head her way for a moment. She smiled at him.

"They are really very nice," she repeated. "I haven't enjoyed myself this much for a long time!"

"Good!" George said. "I hoped you would like it!"

Then he addressed himself to the thickening traffic. June sat watching the buildings along the road, smiling beatifically. It did feel great. The party had been wonderful, and she liked being in George's car with him. She hoped he would remember the offer to go to the theatre together, but she didn't know how to broach the subject. Still, if he forgot she could always invite him over for a coffee or a concert -

"Er," George interrupted her thoughts, "shall I buy those tickets? Do you feel you could stand another couple of hours of my company?"

"Please!" June said. "I haven't gone with anyone lately, and I'm looking forward to going with you!"

George nodded and grinned. "Right-oh," he said. "I'll come to pick you up, ok? The performance is on Sunday afternoon."

"If you come at eleven we can have lunch together first," June said. "I can do a reasonable flan - if you don't mind leek?"

"That sounds very nice. I certainly will!"

He stopped talking and concentrated on the road. June sat thinking about the Sunday to come. Then she looked at George and said, "You know, I find it hard to realise I've only known you for a week. It's probably because of all that to-do, but it feels much longer."

She remained silent for some time. Then she said, "Thank you very much for a lovely time!"

"None of my doing," George said. "It's all Mary-Anne's work."

"But I don't think I'd have been there if it weren't for you," June said. Then she blushed and stared at the road in front of her. George noticed the blush and smiled.

He told her about his family background and his work, and it wasn't long before he drove into June's street. "Here we are," he said. "Back home!"

June nodded and gave him another bright smile. "Thank you very much once again," she said. George got out to open the door for her while she was taking off the safety belt. She got out, shook his hand and raised herself on her toes. George bent over and they kissed each other on the cheek.

"See you on Sunday, June," he said. She remained standing on the kerb until he rounded the corner and waved at her. Then she went inside. She wondered briefly if she should have asked him in for a nightcap, but she wasn't sure if she shouldn't analyse her feelings a little more first. She went into the kitchen to make herself a couple of crackers. She felt unaccountably lonely somehow. She'd always felt alright before, in her own home and her own entourage, those few horrible days at the beginning of last week excepted, of course.

But what if he'd have laughed at her and refused? She let their time together pass the review in her mind and decided that he'd probably have accepted. Oh well, he'd be there next Sunday. Something to be looking forward to! She took her plate of biscuits into the living-room and decided she could have some whisky for a nightcap. There were no pressing activities that Sunday and so she could have her sleep out.

In her mind's eye she could see George sitting in her chair. It had looked a little strange, as he was really too big. She smiled broadly at the thought and let herself down in it. Then she took the remote and started the CD she'd played last night.

The album began with "In the Meantime". June sat listening, a little drowsily, tapping her foot to the music. She would participate in music some way or other. Track three was wonderful, she thought. She smiled a little wistfully. "Somebody's missing you..." She was. She wished he were there, so they could talk a lot more, and maybe try a kiss? She felt certain he would be very different from the friends she'd had before. Sunday seemed a long way off. She decided to work hard and go to bed early, so the week would pass quickly.

George drove home. He was very happy that June had offered him her cheek to kiss. Maybe she'd eventually be happy to kiss him on the mouth? You could never be sure... He'd loved to see her blush.

At home he made his customary trip to his study, and he sat down for a moment to talk to Joan's portrait. She smiled at him from her frame. He suddenly didn't know what to say. Was he just being an unfeeling jerk, or was it okay to try and find a new love, a new voice in the desert of this stale world? He really loved Joan, he did. But June...

He sighed deeply. Then he picked up the phone and called Mary-Anne. She listened to him without comment, and when he'd finished talking she tried to reassure him that yes, it was alright. How old was he? Forty-two? No one would expect him to remain alone for the next forty-two years. Joan certainly wouldn't. She'd talked to Joan about a similar situation, when a mutual friend had lost her husband, and the husband had asked her on his deathbed to remain true to him. Joan had been so angry with the fellow. She really thought it was unbelievable to try and do that to a person, to sentence someone to fifty years of loneliness or more. No, he needn't have any qualms there.

George felt relieved no end. He thanked Mary-Anne profusely, put down the telephone and nodded at Joan. "I'm going to court June," he said. "I'm sorry, love..." But Joan kept smiling at him and he got the idea that she really didn't mind. He smiled back at her. Then he booted his laptop and bought tickets for the Sunday matinee.

It was three years now since Joan had died; she'd been on a walking tour in Macedonia with friends when she lost her footing and fell into a ravine. Her best friend had been so shocked she could not coherently explain what had happened, but it was assumed Joan must have slipped because of the scree on the slope. George had been disconsolate, but time did ameliorate the hurt some.

Joan had been very outspoken in most things. George, who only wanted to please, hadn't minded, but some of friends used to wonder if he didn't relinquish too many of his own ideas to let Joan have her way. They'd not told him outright then. It was only after Joan's death that Jamie, a really old friend of his, tactfully touched on the subject. There was something in it, George thought. He was certain that if things worked out, his relationship with June would be quite different.

He looked on his watch. Ten thirty. Time for a drink. He went across the hall into the living-room, poured himself a large glass of Spanish red wine and turned on the TV. Nothing worth watching, as usual. He shook his head, turned the screen off again and opened the novel he was reading.

After ten minutes he closed the book. His thoughts kept drifting. He would love to feel June's warm body close to his, and to kiss and cuddle again - it felt like years - and he wondered how hard it would be for June to let him into her comfort zone after all the unpleasantness she'd experienced. At least she wasn't given to moping or self-pity. He closed his eyes and pictured June's face, with those beautiful eyes and that lovely mouth he wanted to kiss so much...

He woke up at two, all stiff and cold. It took him a little time to realise where he was. He grinned and took himself off to bed.

Time passed slowly that week. On Tuesday evening George decided he could at least call June to tell her he'd got the tickets, and they talked happily for ten minutes or thereabouts. But when he'd ended his call it only made George the more aware of the silence and loneliness of his house, his too large house, and the great hunger he felt for June's company.

On Thursday June had lunch with Mary-Anne and Jill. They went to a small restaurant where they spent some time talking about Mary-Anne's birthday party and what happened afterwards. When Jill had gone to wash her hands Mary-Anne asked June about George.

June beamed. "We're going to the theatre on Sunday," she said. "I can't wait to see him again!" She blushed. "We've only met a fortnight ago, but it seems much longer."

Mary-Anne smiled. "You like him a lot, don't you?" she said.

June nodded. "I don't know how to put it, but he feels right in every way..." She thought how she loved listening to his voice, and looking at him - he was very handsome, she thought - and he had nice, strong hands... Jill's return made them change the subject.

When she came home she did the necessary chores, hoovering, and washing clothes. Lunch had been substantial, and she didn't feel like cooking too much, so she just warmed some leftovers from the freezer and sat down to a light meal with a glass of wine, listening to Dolly Parton.

Friday was very busy at work, and she came home late. After dinner she took the washing down to fold it, and she looked at her things critically. She was always careful enough, but you couldn't stop time taking the shine away a bit, and a lot of her underthings in particular were rather washed out. She decided it was high time to buy some new things.

She went to BHS and Marks and Spencer's, and on the way home she stopped at her local supermarket for food and wine. She hoped George would like olives and Greek cheese. There were a lot of things she'd love to learn about him, actually.

To make the afternoon go faster she went into the garden to mow the grass, weed the flower beds, sweep the path and pick a nice bunch of flowers for the dinner table. It was evening before she knew. She grinned at herself. Well done, girl, she thought.

She went to bed early, but sleep wouldn't come. She just felt too excited and a not a little worked up, and eventually she pushed off the covers, took off her nightdress and panties and started to stroke her breasts and belly, moaning to herself and slowly working her way down to her hungry pussy, imagining it was George stroking her. She knew how to please herself, and she put off making herself come on purpose, until at last she couldn't hold back and came, hard and pleasurably.

She pulled up her bedcovers again without bothering about her clothes and was asleep within seconds.

She woke up refreshed, happily anticipating seeing George in a few hours. She showered and washed her hair, and then went into the bedroom again to get dressed. She put on a new set of underwear that was rather more frivolous than what she usually wore, thin and lacy, and when she looked at herself she found it looked really good. She put on her green jeans again, with a new, silk blouse and sweater, and finished with a new pair of pumps. Finally she arranged her hair in the usual bun in her neck, and looked at the result with satisfaction.

Then she went downstairs. She had breakfast at the kitchen table, and then she prepared the food for lunch. She made a small salad with Greek cheese, olives, tomatoes and cucumber and she prepared the flan. She carefully placed it in the oven to be finished when George was there.

Coffee time. It was a sweet, sunny morning and the light in her living-room was beautiful. She put a CD into the CD player and slowly sipped her coffee listening to the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields play "The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba." Her parents used to have it on LP, and she loved listening to it on Sunday mornings in the old former rectory in the Sussex village she'd spent her first ten years in. When the sort piece ended she pressed the remote to listen to it once again.