Nature vs Nurture

Foreword

________

Patience may be required to see this story through to the end but I hope sincerely you deem it worth the time. Like all my stories, I stretch the plausible in the cause of passion and romance and make no excuses for that; I am a hopeless romantic who believes in happy endings.

In an effort to try something new, I've given this story a soundtrack of sorts, with key moments having a song attached to them. The songs are named within the story but I've also included a track listing for anyone who may be interested in playing along:

Sarah Machlachlan -- Fumbling towards ecstasy

The Wailin Jennys -- What has been done

Kalandra -- Borders

Sarah Jarosz -- Everything to hide

London Grammar -- Wild Eyed

Alana Henderson -- The Tower

Ruth Moody - Pockets

Sisters of Mercy -- Under the Gun

Honeyhoney -- Thin line

Deb Talan -- Rocks and Water

Scott Bradlee's Post Modern Jukebox -- Bad Habits

Lucy Wainwright Roche -- Trouble

KT Tunstall -- Universe & U

Tori Amos -- Little Earthquakes

-

Rachael Sarafian shifted impatiently in the hard wooden chair. She'd already been waiting 15 minutes having arrived a few minutes early for the meeting with her son's English teacher. She hadn't been looking forward to this meeting anyway and the extra ten minutes in the uncomfortable chair had done nothing to improve her mood. A pleasant, surprisingly warm April evening, it was also Friday and all Rachael wanted to do was go home and relax. She crossed her legs the other way for the umpteenth time, the skirt of her light cotton dress falling open to reveal her bare legs. In other surroundings or circumstances she may have left them on display; although not an exhibitionist, she was proud of her legs in particular since she spent a good deal of time exercising them.

5'5", slender and athletic, Rachael was certainly desirable. Dark eyed and with long straight black hair, her skin, though not overly dark, also betrayed her Turkish ancestry and at 38, she was still considered to look much younger than her years. My Byzantine Princess, her husband Iain had called her. She'd always had an active life, enjoying cycling and rambling in the great outdoors, so was in great shape. She and Iain used to walk the trails and take mountain bike rides in the beautiful countryside a stone's throw from their home and she had continued to do the same, largely alone, since his passing some five years hence.

She pulled the dress back across her knees and cast her mind over the events leading to this meeting. Miss Hennigan had requested a face-to-face, apparently concerned with Liam's erratic performance over the last term. He was now 14, his teenage hormones in full swing and as a single parent, Rachael often found him challenging to talk to. He was a bright lad, largely cheerful and amenable but without a distinct father figure in his life, he had become difficult to deal with on occasion. Now, she discovered, his school grades had begun to suffer and in English, in particular, he had gone from slam-dunk grade A student to missing homework and sloppy work when he did submit.

The odd part was that Miss Hennigan, his new English teacher for this year, was his new favourite. He had talked about her animatedly and his early work this year had been outstanding. He had shown on many occasions in his life that he had a fantastic imagination and was shaping up to be a gifted creative writer; under Miss Hennigan's tutelage, he had seemed to blossom at first. Then things took a turn for the worse until, last week, Miss Hennigan had phoned her directly to request this meeting. She shouldn't have felt irritated by that, a teacher's concern for one of her star pupils, but there was no denying it.

She hadn't met Miss Hennigan herself but had certainly heard enough about her since she'd started at the school last September. The flame haired Gaelic enchantress by all accounts, Liam couldn't stop talking about her and both his male and female friends seemed equally taken. The rising resentment may just have been a Mother's protective instinct that another woman now occupied such an important position in her son's life but she felt it strongly. Her worry was simply that Miss Hennigan's physical attributes would assume greater importance than her teaching ability to the blooming hormones of her teenage son.

On the phone, she had been charming, polite and every inch the concerned professional but her damned velvet, slightly husky voice and soft Irish accent only served to increase Rachael's concern. Was she jealous? She'd like to think such pettiness was beneath her but now she was here, waiting to meet the woman, she couldn't quell the inexplicable ire.

She bent down, removed one of her four inch heeled suede pumps and massaged her foot, more as a distraction than out of need. As she replaced the shoe, the clicking of heels from the next corridor caught her attention and a moment later, a woman with long red hair wearing a short summer dress in forest green appeared from around the corner, some 10 yards distant. Raising her eyes, she saw Rachael, smiled and hurried her steps slightly. Rachael appraised her as she approached.

Similar height and build, she looked vibrant and healthy, the flame red hair, slightly waved, spilled around her shoulders reaching almost down to her breasts. The cotton dress she wore was short sleeved, figure hugging without being over-tight but it was short, the skirt hem a good four or five inches above the knee. The legs displayed were well toned and shapely and lengthened nicely by the four inch heeled t-strap shoes; legs that walked or ran, she surmised appreciatively. The dress was high necked, modest enough but Rachael thought the skirt much too short for a woman teaching teenage boys, particularly when legs like that were on display. Her face was elfin, high cheek-boned, full but not overlarge lips and but a few creases around the smiling mouth and eyes. Early 30s, Rachael guessed as she stood to greet the woman.

They made eye contact.

Oh my, thought Rachael as the gap between them closed, eyes to get lost in.

Sapphire blue, almond shaped and slightly up-slanted eyes smiled out at her from within the burnished copper mantle of her hair. In spite of her impatience and prior irritation, Rachael couldn't help but appreciate this woman's natural beauty and presence. Up close she could see she wore no make-up, as indeed neither did Rachael on this occasion. The light dusting of freckles around the cheek bones and nose were adornment enough, she thought as Miss Hennigan stopped the requisite arm's length away and extended her hand.

"Mrs Sarafian, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said cheerfully. The slightly husky mezzo-soprano voice with its soft Irish lilt was even more effective in person. Rachel took the proffered hand in her own, maintaining eye contact. The hand was warm, no hint of sweat thankfully, the skin of her palm and fingers soft but betraying a life of exercise and hard work, not baby-like.

"Miss Hennigan," she returned with a brief smile, the impatience remaining despite her positive appraisal of the woman.

"Please, call me Saoirse," said the teacher with a warmer smile of her own. (Pronounced 'Sersha' if you're unfamiliar with Gaelic names.)

"Rachael." She said it flatly, the glimmer of a smile now faded from her lips. She must seem rude or impatient, she realised but her instinctive ire remained intact in spite of the red-haired teacher's obvious warmth.

They maintained eye contact, another moment passed silently and Rachael realised their hands were still softly clasped. Saoirse's smile faded from her mouth but the eye's were still friendly as they continued for another long moment to search her own. Her face remained impassive as she returned the gaze, her ire fading, thinking only how blue those eyes were, noticing the gradient from deep sapphire to lighter azure at the outer edge of the iris. Quite beautiful, even mesmerising...

"Shall we?" Saoirse's silky voice broke through the reverie.

Almost startled, Rachael looked from the hypnotic eyes to the door Saoirse was gesturing toward, then back to their still joined hands before returning once more to meet the sapphire gaze. She smiled, momentary embarrassment taking hold and nodded as she released her grip. The two hands slid away from the clasp, the long slender fingers almost caressing each other as they separated.

As Saoirse turned toward the classroom door, she held eye contact for a moment but the smile had faded now and her gaze was unreadable. As though in a daze, Rachael met the gaze before also turning to walk alongside her across the wide corridor. As they walked the 12 or so feet, the now off-balance mother shook her head to try and clear the odd hypnotic fog that seemed to have taken hold.

Logic told her that the meeting, exchanging names and shaking hands took no more than a few moments but she had quite literally lost track of time already. It seemed strangely distant now, the impatience she had felt while waiting and the effect of the greeting, the gaze of those blue eyes and the lingering touch of hands had been oddly intimate. She had felt almost glamoured and as they reached the door and Saoirse opened it, stepping in and turning side-on to allow Rachael past, she no longer knew quite what she was feeling toward the undeniably enchanting teacher. She turned to step through the doorway, facing Saoirse once more, stepping past her face to face, maybe closer than was polite. The cloth of her long skirt swished across the short dress and bare legs and Rachael caught a strong scent of the white musk perfume she wore.

"We'll sit in the teacher's room at the back; it's more comfortable." The Gaelic lilt caught her off guard again and Rachael forced her eyes away to look where she pointed; a small room at the back of the classroom, little more than a large cupboard with a window but she could see two comfortable low chairs and a coffee table through the open door. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll join you in a moment," Saoirse said over her shoulder as she moved toward the teacher's desk at the other side of the classroom.

Rachael settled herself into one of the chairs and crossed her legs, holding the skirt of her dress in place this time. Gazing absently out of the window to her right, she pondered on the oddness of this meeting so far. She had always been someone of focus, not easily distracted but something about the other woman had unsettled her in a way she couldn't quite pin down. She was here to discuss her son's education but she seemed more preoccupied now with the red-haired teacher's obvious sexuality, something she had been worrying about ever since Liam and his friends had started talking about her. Teachers are allowed to be attractive of course, she told herself, almost self-chiding with the thought.

Saoirse entered and sat in the other chair, smoothing her dress as she did, then crossed her legs right over left, the outstretched foot pointing toward Rachael. The room was small, the chairs only about two feet apart, and the hovering foot was only a few inches from Rachael's leg. She looked at the foot, the shoe adorning it, briefly admiring the quality of the leather t-bar stiletto. Her eyes quickly travelled up the toned leg and along the curve of the now more exposed thigh, then flicked up to the lovely face to find Saoirse looking at her slightly quizzically. She smiled, more warmly this time and the teacher returned the smile.

"So, I'll get right to it if I may, Rachael," she began, the soft Gaelic accent soothing. "Liam's work at the beginning of this year was exemplary. His grasp of English, its nuances and even archaic grammar, is superb. With his imagination, he has shown he can be a fine creative writer and even his poetry, though somewhat naive, shows true promise."

Rachael smiled at that; she had always known he would have a creative flair as he grew and English had seemed to become his chosen medium.

"He would glow to hear you say that. He and his friends have spoken very highly of you since you started here, Saoirse. New teachers usually have a hard time of it." She spoke the truth, of course but a part of her mind wondered at the real reason for that.

"Nice to hear. This is only my second teaching position and the first school was, shall we say, less appealing than this one." The blue eyes flicked skyward. "Anyway, over the last month, both Liam's standard of work and attitude have taken a nose dive, I'm afraid. I tried to question him about it when he missed a couple of homework deadlines but he quickly became surly. That seemed so unlike the lad I first met, I wondered if something was going on in his personal life that may be causing a problem?"

"Nothing I can think of, really. He is starting to notice girls more but there isn't a significant object of desire that I know of," Rachael mused openly, not feeling as defensive as she had been. "It's been difficult for me since his father died, I have to admit. With no definitive father figure, there are times I struggle to talk to him and relate to what he's going through, both as a child and as a young man. That must make it tough for him, too."

"I can't begin to imagine what that has been like for either of you." Saoirse leaned forward in the chair and placed her hand gently on Rachael's cotton covered knee, eyes full of sympathy. The outstretched foot pressed against her leg and she leaned into the contact very slightly. She put her hand over Saoirse's, squeezing it slightly and smiling a small, sad smile. Brown eyes met blue and Saoirse squeezed her knee then released it, Rachael removing her hand as the red head leaned back in her chair once more. The hovering foot still lightly touched her leg, however but Rachael paid it little mind.

"Have you considered dating?" It was a bold question and fell awkwardly into the silent moment.

Rachael started, taken completely by surprise. "No, I haven't. I haven't had a date since Iain died and it isn't something I'm considering either, though I don't see how it's relevant or what it has to do with my son's English teacher!" She said the words quietly but the rebuke was obvious and the momentary connection they had elicited by the physical contact vanished.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry or presume to judge, Rachael." Saoirse's face showed a frown for the first time. "I'm trying to understand your situation, your state of mind so I can make sense of Liam's change of attitude."

"Our home life has been generally good, thank you and I doubt this sudden change is because I don't have a boyfriend," Rachael returned with the same tone of rebuke. She felt irritated again; Saoirse seemed lovely but she didn't know this woman and certainly wasn't comfortable discussing her personal life with her.

"I wasn't suggesting it did, honestly but you said yourself lack of a father-figure might be part of the problem." The teacher's tone was soft, reconciliatory but the words were having the opposite effect on Rachael.

"That isn't what I said; I said lack of that has made it difficult for me to talk to him sometimes. As an English teacher, you should recognise the importance of wording, Miss Hennigan!" She heard the edge and increased volume in her own voice, realised she may be starting to overreact but the frown that last comment inspired upon Saoirse's face had shifted her mood back to irritated. She recalled her initial impression of the red head. "It seems more likely your short dresses and daily display of legs is wreaking havoc with his teenage hormones. Honestly, do you think it's a good idea to dress like that around teenage boys?"

Rachel saw the frown deepen on the teacher's face, felt the pressing foot, which she had all but forgotten about, move away from her leg leaving a cold spot where it had been. Blue eyes stared angrily into brown and the silence lengthened as Saoirse carefully weighed her response. Rachael shifted in the seat and uncrossed and re-crossed her legs the other way. The skirt of her dress fell open again, exposing her own legs to just below mid thigh. Her crossed leg was now pointing toward Saoirse's and Rachael saw the other woman drop her eyes to her legs as the dress fell open, saw the eyes widen slightly before returning to meet her own gaze.

"Mrs Sarafian," began the teacher calmly, taking her cue from Rachael and switching back to formal address, "I meant no insult to you or your family, I am simply concerned and trying to understand. I want to help your son realise his potential as I'm sure you do. Given the sudden change in him I doubt very much that the way I dress has anything to do with that."

Rachael glanced down at the teacher's bare legs, her eyes tracing the curve of her calf from knee to ankle. They were certainly gorgeous legs, every bit as toned and shapely as her own. Crossed the other way and exposed as they were, the two women's bare ankles now hovered less than an inch apart. Rachael looked from her own stiletto pump clad foot to Saoirse's before her eyes travelled casually back up the other woman's leg to her slender fingered hands which were clasped, fingers interlocked, resting in her lap. She continued from the hands to the well toned arms up to the curve of her neck, her jaw-line, then lingered a moment on the lips and finally back to the blue eyes which now seemed to almost glow with cold fire, as sunlight from the window caught her face.

Several moments had passed in silence as Rachael had performed her once-over. "It's funny, when I first told Liam you'd phoned me for a meeting he seemed pleased. 'You'll really like her, Mum,' he said, 'you have so much in common.' I wasn't expecting an intelligent, well educated woman to be so naive. If you think your perfect figure and displayed flesh isn't having an effect on the boys you teach, you know nothing about male hormones."

Saoirse's calm demeanour slipped further. "Liam had said the same to me about you on several occasions; how alike we are, how we'd get along famously. For my part, I wasn't expecting you to be petty and frankly jealous. I...."

"Jealous!?" Rachael leaned forward suddenly in her seat, her irritation turning to anger. "Jealous of what exactly? I'm not so insecure I feel threatened by a tarty teacher no matter how red her hair, how blue her eyes, or how great her legs."

The blue eyes flashed wide, the anger there visible, reflecting Rachael's and the red head leaned forward in her seat to mirror the angry mother. She felt the bare ankle meet her own, pressing, then sliding over each other with near frictionless contact.

"Why are you being diversionary, then? We both have Liam's interest at heart and I wanted this meeting because I thought we could greet the problem as a united front. Frankly, I expected better than personal attacks inspired by insecurity." Saoirse was angry now, every bit as angry as Rachael. Couldn't the woman see beyond her jealousy? "I'm not trying to be his mother; you have nothing to be jealous of!"

There it is again, that word. Rachael shuffled forward more in her seat, the heat of her anger increasing seemingly of its own volition. It seemed every word they now exchanged made the situation worse but she wasn't about to be patronised by this woman, no matter how good a teacher her son thought she was.

"I think you're mistaking disdain for jealousy, Miss Hennigan. I expected to meet a mature and competent teacher, not a jumped up self-important tart more concerned with her appearance than her classes." A small part of Rachael's mind questioned the choice of words as well as the root of her growing anger but she was too far gone to pay it any attention right now.

Saoirse also shoved forward in her seat and their bare legs pressed against each other. Neither woman looked at the contact but both noted the feel of the other's leg, the softness of the skin and the play of the firmer muscle beneath. Their faces were now but a foot apart as they glowered at each other.