The Accountant's Wife

Francesca wriggled in my lap finding a comfortable position, regardless of the effect her actions were having on a certain unruly part of my anatomy. I held her tight with a muttered, "Stop that."

She gave a happy little laugh and whispered back, "I'm glad to see you're still happy to see me," and kissed me.

"Leave the poor boy alone," Mary commanded. Then more softly, "You can give him your birthday present later. But first, what did you think of her, Michael?"

Francesca settled down, resting her head on my chest. I wrapped an arm around her, and she'd stuck her tongue out at Mary and then gave a contented sigh as I started to run my fingers through her long black hair.

"Well, do you like her?" Aunt Karen asked.

"You know I've always liked her," I said, and gave the top of Francesca's head a kiss. I knew it wasn't Francesca she was asking me about, but I love to tease Karen.

"Idiot!" She tapped my arm. "I'm not talking about the trollop on your lap; I mean Rebecca."

Francesca turned her head and stuck her tongue out at Karen, and then tightened her grip on me. "Huh, this trollop gets the boy tonight, he's mine, all mine."

I grinned to myself at the prospect of the birthday present my Italian beauty was promising me.

Karen sighed, "Seriously, Michael, what did you think of her?"

"What I think is that my aunt, my best friend and my lover are all conspiring to set me up with the girl."

The woman in my arms whispered, "Guilty as charged," while the other two just looked embarrassed.

I let them off the hook, "She's nice; I'm taking her out to dinner tomorrow night." Then I said to Mary, "Do you know anything about her last boyfriend? The breakup sounded like it was rough."

"Yes, it was quite a scandal. He was a married associate professor, and she had an affair with him. He said he was separated and was promising Rebecca that he was going to divorce his wife. It turned out he had no intention of doing it. It all blew up when the wife found out. Rebecca's family managed to hush up her part in it, and she came home."

"Oh."

"She's a nice girl, Michael, just a bit too trusting, and she fell for an unscrupulous asshole who sold her a bill of goods just to get her in his bed, and he wasn't the first. Her previous boyfriend, her high school boyfriend, laced her drink at a frat party and invited his friends to use her. Fortunately, a girlfriend discovered what was about to happen and got her out. They'd been together for three years." Mary was studying me as she spoke. "She needs someone good in her life, and we all think that you could be that person. You haven't had a real girlfriend for a couple of years, not since... oh, what was her name?"

"Alison," Karen supplied.

I shut my eyes, Alison was a painful memory I didn't want to revisit. In the aftermath, I'd done a similar thing to Rebecca and sworn off any new relationships. I was also getting a bit irritated with their manipulation. Rebecca seemed a nice girl, and I was happy to see if anything evolved, but I wasn't going to be pushed.

"Enough," I said, "Mary, can you do one thing for me? I need a reservation at a good restaurant for tonight at eight, can you do that?"

She nodded.

"Then that's it. After that, none of you will do anything to help things along. I like the girl, and if it works out, great, if not, that's life. Now I believe I have a birthday present that needs unwrapping." I gave Francesca a kiss, and she laughed happily.

Francesca was 41, yet the body I unwrapped in the privacy of my bedroom was that of a woman my age. She stood, poised, her dress pooled at her feet, my own black-haired Venus de Milo.

We celebrated my birthday in the only way we could, with an outpouring of our physical love that left both emotionally spent and fast asleep, totally exhausted.

Mid-morning Mary and Karen braved the wreckage that had been my bed, to wake us with coffee and freshly baked pastries. I don't know how Francesca does it. I looked and felt like something the cat had dragged in. She, on the other hand, looked serene; she glowed with an inner brightness. Her long black hair splayed out on the pillow framing her smiling face. Her body stretched languidly over the covers.

She didn't wake up at the sound of the knock on the door. I staggered over and opened it to two smiling faces and the heavenly aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Looking back at the sleeping beauty lying on the bed covers inspired me. I asked Mary and Karen to keep quiet and sit down on the chairs by the dressing table.

In my bag was a sketchpad and charcoal. I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed and swiftly drew my sleeping lover. Simple, bold lines that grew into the outline, shading gave her body depth. It took me less than five minutes to complete the drawing; any more and I knew I'd ruin it.

It wasn't until I stood up and Mary and Karen came over to see the drawing, that I recalled I was standing naked in front of my aunt and her lover. I sat down on the bed and pulled a corner of a sheet across my waist.

Two arms circled me, and a soft pair of breasts pressed into my back. Francesca peered over my shoulder and promptly started to sob.

"Mio bel ragazzo," she whispered, "You make me look so beautiful. Can I keep it please, for my bedroom?"

I understood the importance of her words "Of course," I said and turned so I could give her a kiss.

Francesca's villa is packed with artwork, but only four pieces hang in her bedroom. One is a life-size canvas of my aunt that Francesca painted ten years ago, the second is of Karen and Mary asleep in Francesca's bed. The third is the outline of a young man silhouetted against the window of her bedroom. The last was the only piece Francesca hadn't created; it was the small sketch of the model I drew on my first visit.

She kissed my neck and whispered, "Thank you, my sweet love."

I wrapped the sheet around myself and went to the bathroom, leaving the three lovers sitting on the bed hugging each other.

That evening, I drove the Jag to Rebecca's family home. Theirs was even larger and more imposing than the one I'd just left. For once in my life, I didn't feel out of place as I drove up their drive. In my mind the Jaguar I was driving far outshone bricks and mortar.

Even it stood no chance against the beauty that waited for me at the top of the short flight of steps leading to the front door. Rebecca stood beside her parents, alerted, no doubt, by the security guard at the gate.

Rebecca looked radiant in a classic mid-thigh little black dress, a younger version of her mother, standing beside her. I was introduced to her father; we hadn't had a chance to talk the previous evening. His name was Conrad Winters, and her mother was Rachael.

Conrad was surprised to see me in the SS Jaguar. "I didn't know David allowed anyone other than himself to drive one of his prize cars."

"He doesn't, usually. He gave me this one as a birthday present."

He whistled in surprise. "So how do you know him? We didn't get much of a chance to talk last night. Someone seemed to take up most of your time." He gave his daughter a smile, and she blushed.

"My aunt's a very old friend of his wife, and she got me a summer internship with their company. I was lucky enough to be able to trace some embezzled funds for him."

"Michael James," he mused, and then a smile crossed his face as he worked out who I was. "You're the accountant guy who tracks down stolen money for companies. Our firm has worked on some of those cases, Winter and Associates."

I recognized the name and guessed it was the same family firm of lawyers where Rebecca was now employed.

Mary had used her influence to get me a reservation for eight o'clock at Bones, a steakhouse in Buckhead. We said our goodbyes and I held the car's passenger door open for Rebecca, which caused her to hesitate until I pointed out that the Jag was British and right-hand drive and I wasn't asking her to drive.

The evening was warm, and the wind flicked at her hair as we drove along. I'd offered her a jacket and a scarf before we'd started out. She'd taken the jacket but not the scarf. She had a child's smile plastered across her face, which grew even wider as the throaty roar of the exhaust bounced back from the buildings as we entered the streets of Buckhead.

The valet's eyes popped as I pulled up outside the restaurant. "Never out of your sight," I made him promise. I backed my request with a $50 bill.

That evening moved our relationship to the next level. The meal was everything Mary had promised it would be. Rebecca and I got over the last lingering doubts about our manipulating friends and relatives. We soon realized that we liked each other for what we were, not for what we were told we were.

The drive back seemed to pass far too quickly. She grasped my arm and rested her head on my shoulder. I let the back of my hand caress her thigh, and she kissed the side of my face. I escorted her to the door, and she gave me a deep but chaste looking kiss. "Too many eyes are watching us," she murmured and gave the security camera a little wave. The camera tilted in reply, to my amusement.

We managed to find the time in our busy schedules to date several times over the next two weeks. We'd both been burnt in our previous relationships, so we were cautious. There was none of this love at first sight that you read about in the romantic novels, but there was a growing sense that we were meant to be together.

Both of us were aware of the impending date of my flight home. I couldn't change it as there were several new cases waiting for my attention. The deadline made us more cautious about our possible future. Did we progress beyond a chaste kiss, of course we did, but not as far as I think we'd both have liked. The ever-present fact that I lived over 4000 miles away was a cloud that hung over both of us.

I couldn't help it; I couldn't leave without getting some commitment from Rebecca. In the space of two weeks, she'd managed to embed herself under my skin.

For some reason, I'd never managed to visit New Orleans on any of my trips to the States, so this time, I'd been planning to spend a couple of days in the city before I set off home. I was nervous about asking her, and with a degree of trepidation, I invited Rebecca to join me in New Orleans on the last weekend of the trip.

To my joy, she jumped at the chance to come with me when I asked. Three days and two nights at a romantic hotel in the middle of the French quarter. Her only stipulation was that we should have separate rooms.

That weekend in the romantic jewel on the Mississippi was the turning point of our relationship. It started out slowly and with a problem. As she had suggested and not wishing to seem too presumptuous, I'd tried to book two rooms for us. Of course, I'd picked a weekend when the city was heaving with a major medical congress. I could find the odd room but never more than one per hotel.

Mary overheard me cursing and used her company's influence to find us suitable accommodation.

"I've found you two bedrooms," she told me with a smile a few hours later.

I've known her long enough that I don't trust her when she smiles like that. "Two rooms? I checked. "I don't want Rebecca to think sex is the only thing I've got on my mind."

"Two bedrooms," she confirmed, "at the Maison Dupuy hotel in the French quarter. Mind you, if Francesca's description of her night with you is only half true, then I don't think Rebecca would have anything to complain about if you two did enjoy yourselves."

My ears blushed bright red. Francesca and Karen had stayed another couple of days, and I'd slept on my own those evenings. "Christ, Mary, does Francesca tell you two everything!"

"Of course she does, we love living vicariously through her, and she loves you in her way. You know, you're the only man who she has shared her bed with these past few years."

She saw my surprise at that. I was aware that Francesca had always preferred female lovers, but knew, or thought I did, that she took the odd man to her bed as well. Mary took my hand and made me follow her to her private study; this was the first time I'd ever been invited through the door.

"She painted that from memory," she said as she pointed at a full-size canvas on the wall. It was flanked on one side by a painting of Karen in the bath and on the other by a self-portrait of Francesca in her bed. I'd seen versions of those at the villa before. I hadn't seen the one in the middle before, and if I thought my ears couldn't get any redder, I was sorely mistaken.

"Oh God, she didn't," I stammered.

She had; me in all my glory, lying on my back on her bed. It was obviously early morning, and I was just waking. The bed sheet was a tangled mess at my feet. All I can say is that Francesca's memory is very good, as my semi-turgid morning erection was perfect in every detail.

"Please tell me you don't let people see that," I said.

"You're only the second man who's ever been in here," she said and pointed at the wall behind me. When I took in the painting hanging there, I could see why.

There was a slightly less graphic version of this painting on the wall of Francesca's bedroom. I had a slightly more PG version at home. This one was the xxx version. Mary and Karen caught at the moment of a mutual orgasm, sprawled across Karen's bed.

"Oh," and I couldn't think of anything thing else to say.

"David has seen it," Mary said, "and I know Francesca has something similar on her bedroom wall." I nodded.

"I was thinking of letting Rebecca see them; she was asking if I had any of Francesca's paintings."

"Christ, tell me you're not going to," I begged.

Mary laughed and gave me a hug. She whispered, "I envy what you and Francesca have."

Rebecca and I flew to New Orleans on David's corporate jet, and he had laid on a limousine to take us to the hotel. Sure, Mary had booked two bedrooms, only they were in the same suite: The Carriage House, a two-bedroom cottage in the grounds of the hotel. We arrived on a Friday afternoon, and Rebecca initially viewed our accommodation with a degree of skepticism.

Hey, we are not talking about the quality; the Carriage House is a luxurious place, but as I suspected, given her track record of manipulating lovers, even a separate bedroom in the same suite was eyed suspiciously. She calmed down a bit after I got Mary to call her and confirm that I'd asked her to help me find two separate rooms, but this was the best she could do since nearly every other hotel was overbooked.

Her bedroom had a lock, which she made sure I heard her use that evening after we got back to the suite. We had eaten at one of the quaint little outdoor courtyard restaurants and then enjoyed the music at a bar on Bourbon Street. It was late as we walked back to the hotel, our arms around each other and the French quarter working its magic on us.

In the main room of our suite, Rebecca turned to me. "I've enjoyed tonight, and I think I've fallen for my village idiot." Then she kissed me.

"But," she said, and there's always a but, isn't there? "I'm not sure if we can make it work at such a long distance. My career is here in America; yours is based in England. I've tried that once before, and it failed miserably."

I tried to comfort her and tell her we'd work it out. She just got more upset.

"It's not fair; I love you," she sniveled and ran off to her bedroom, locking the door after her.

The problem was, I loved her, too. I poured myself a drink and sat in the lounge feeling sorry for myself. I'm not sure how much later it was, but I started back from my contemplation as I heard her voice. I hoped that she was calling me, but no it was obvious she was having a fairly heated conversation with someone on her phone.

I took myself off to bed and called Karen; she and Francesca had decided to go to California for a vacation after my party. I'm not sure what I said, I know that at some point I was shouting and at another crying.

"Don't worry; we'll get it sorted," was her last words to me as she disconnected. I couldn't see how, and I spent a few sleepless hours trying to work out if I could move the company, lock, stock, and barrel to the States. It wasn't hard to work out that it wasn't viable; two-thirds of our business came from Europe. Half of my investigators had strong ties to the local area. The clinching argument was that Lesley wouldn't be willing to leave her daughters or the village, and she was the intricate heart of the business.

The next day, Rebecca seemed a little bit distant and cold to me. We did the touristy things, walked hand in hand along the levee and watched the watercraft sailing down the Mississippi River. We had lunch at the old Jax brewery building. In the afternoon, we took the trolley car out past the old mansions and to the zoo. In the evening, we sat on the wooden benches at the Preservation Hall to listen to jazz in its purest form.

It wasn't that late when we made our way back to the hotel. We walked arms around each other, in silence. I was lost in my thoughts; I was still hoping I could work out some way we could make our relationship work at a distance. From the little glances she was giving me, I'm sure that Rebecca was thinking hard as well. The problem was that I guess both of us were waiting for the other to make that first step.

In the suite, we stood facing each other, both of us waiting for the other to start. The silence grew on what was looking like it was to be our last evening together.

I finally broke the void between us. "Regardless of whatever happens," I said as I drew her into a hug. "You need to know that I'm in love with you. If there were any way I could move the company over here, I would. I just can't, but I can feel the connection between us."

"I know," she said. "I've spoken to your aunt, and she's explained it all to me."

Christ, when had she spoken to Karen?

"We can try," I said, and I meant it

She kissed me, "Let's forget the future. I want to live in the present. Will you make love to me tonight?"

I whispered, "Yes." We kissed again; then she drew away.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said. "I won't be long; I need to freshen up. You should have one, too."

"Together?" I suggested hopefully.

She put her finger on my lips and then pointed me in the direction of my bedroom. "That's not how I want you first to see me; give me some sense of mystery."

I gave her a smile and a kiss then headed to my room. I had a quick shower and slipped on a pair of clean boxers. I sat down in the lounge. I could hear her shower running. The shower stopped, and in the silence, her phone could be heard ringing.

There was a long pause; then I heard her scream. I jumped up and started to go to her. She appeared in the doorway. Rebecca threw herself into my arms.

"I don't know how you did it," she laughed, "but I'm going to England in a month. The firm wants to open an international law division, and I'm to work with a British law firm for a year to get the qualifications I'll need to run it."

She was consumed with a desperate desire. I wasn't fully prepared for her assault and staggered back a step or two. Rebecca was all over me. She took my face in her hands, and she kissed me hard, even as I wrapped my arms around her.

I backpedaled into my room until the back of my legs bumped into the bed. Rebecca put her feet on the floor, and her hands tore at my boxers. With a quick shimmy, her robe dropped to the floor, leaving her naked body pressed up against me. She gave me a wicked grin, gave me a savage push, and I fell back on the bed.

She jumped on top of me, her naked body hot with desire. She latched into my neck like a starving female version of the Vampire Lestat.