Thank you, Dawnj, for editing! This was supposed to be a short one. Oh well, you'll have to bear with me for some time.

*****

Rumour had it that June Faversham was a slut. She was a one, it was said - wild, and an easy lay, in for anything. She was a girl who would use and discard boyfriends at will. It was also said she would never say no. Feeling horny? June would always be more than willing to help you out; sex was her middle name.

It wasn't true. June had been curious about boys and love and sex when she was in her middle teens, like everyone else, but contrary to popular belief she hadn't been in for anything or anyone. She had just had three boyfriends only, over a six-year period. Her brief relationships had never worked out that well, and though she understood what love might be about, her attempts at making love had been none too satisfactory.

Her first boyfriend was just too young, too hasty and, eventually, intellectually not up to her level . They parted quite amicably, happy to be free from the demands they couldn't meet. The second one was alright for a few months, but then he lost interest. Her third boyfriend, John De Vere, had been very possessive. After a very short time his sexual appetite had become demanding and unpleasant, expecting her to do things she definitely did not want to do. John couldn't handle the fact that June didn't see him as God's gift to women and the be-all and end-all in her life. That, and the fact that he had started to be physically abusive, was quite enough. When she broke up with him, he started spreading rumours. He made her out to be the way he'd wanted to see her, licentious and whorish, and as he was a glib talker, the rumours stuck.

Even when John was arrested later for domestic violence, the tales he'd spread didn't lose their credibility for some of the men whose ears they'd been poured into. It seemed impossible for June to convince her the people in her surroundings; whatever she did, and no matter how prudently she behaved, her false bad name followed her like a puppy, always there, and yelping at the most impossible moments.

June was completely fed up with it all. It appeared her reputation gave men the right to insult her and expect things from her. She hated it, and refused any contact with them. She even went as far as moving house, eventually, to go and live where she wasn't known. It seemed to work out very well. For a long, long time, it felt as if her alleged past had been safely buried under a new face and in a new circle of acquaintances, in a place where she had a nice job and felt respected and valued. She slowly got over her distrust of people. She started to visit some of them again, and she even became mildly interested in the opposite sex - not that there were any attractive specimens - and eventually let herself be persuaded to visit the birthday party of one of her colleagues.

June usually wore a business suit to work, and she'd not bought any party clothes for ages. But she didn't care too much; a new pair of green jeans, a blouse and a sweater would have to do. She hadn't worn any make-up since she'd moved to this part of London. Her old lipstick turned out to be so dried out it was useless, and so she only used a little mascara and a whiff of a somewhat sedate perfume. Not that it mattered. She had never cared much about her appearance, but as she was a good dresser by instinct, no one ever noticed. She looked at herself critically in the mirror for a moment, and nodded at her reflection. She didn't look her age; she was thirty-four but could easily pass for five years younger or more. "Hello girl," she said, and smiled.

The party was in South London. Because June didn't want to live on orange juice all night, she walked a couple of blocks to the tube station. She had to change at Whitechapel and she got off at Norwood Junction. From there it was just a five-minute walk.

Mary-Jane Dubois had turned forty two days before. She loved having people over for a party, so this Friday night her house was packed with friends, colleagues and a couple of stray acquaintances. She lived with her husband in a rather large house that had been in the country when it saw the light; now it still had a spacious garden, and it boasted a big living-room adjacent to a kitchen that was almost the size of June's living-room and kitchen taken together.

Mary-Anne greeted her happily. She was a big woman with a very friendly disposition, and a lean, tallish husband with a sardonic look on life who lectured in something unintelligible at university. They were a slightly unlikely but very devoted couple, and the parties they gave were always enthusiastically attended by lots of people. The house was crowded. She recognised a few people from work, and Mary-Anne introduced her to a few others. Then the bell rang and her hostess excused herself, leaving June with a glass of red wine and Alice, the young woman to whom she'd just been introduced.

They stood talking together for a while. June rather liked Alice, who was a musician and talked quite engagingly about the concerts she was giving these weeks. June made music herself, so the subject was quite appealing. But after some time Alice drifted off to a young man who played in the same quintet as she did, and Jane stood alone, looking at the crowd enjoying themselves.

She nodded at a colleague who stood talking to a thin woman with a sour expression and a glass of water in her hand. The colleague gave her a wink, and she smiled at her. She decided to go and talk to her as soon as she'd have ended her conversation when she got cornered by a slightly unpleasant-looking man. She thought he must be in his late forties, and he exuded a somewhat seedy air.

"Hello," he said. "I think I know you, Miss Faversham. Heard a lot of lovely things about you. My wife is out of town tonight, and you are just what I need for a nice romp between the sheets! We've got some nice PVC underwear - swing those knockers up and down some." He leered at her, and gave her a wink that made made him look even more repulsive.

The flesh in June's neck seemed to shrink as she heard what he said. "I'm very sorry but you must be mistaken," she said. "I don't think I know you, and I would be very happy if you took your misguided sense of humour elsewhere."

"Oh no," he said. "I'm not mistaken at all. If you like, I could tell the others what I know about you? Good idea, er? Or would you rather no-one knew? In that case I'm ready to leave when you are. Jim's the name, by the way. Jim Jones." He winked again. "It's a long time since I fucked a nice young thing to pieces."

Jane spun round on her heels. She did not want to have anything to do with this man. She didn't want the rumours to start, either, and she supposed he'd be quite capable of starting them if his present behaviour was anything to go by. She looked at a picture on the wall but she didn't see what was in it; instead she saw her future go up in smoke again.

She put the glass she was still holding on an occasional table and walked to the far end of the room where a low fire was burning in the grate. She saw nobody there and there were two easy chairs in front of it. Her legs were trembling and she sat down in the nearest one.

"Hello," someone said. "I'm not that invisible, I hope?"

She started. There was someone sitting in the other chair. He put down a book he'd been holding, got up, extended his hand, and said, "George Jillings. Pleased to meet you."

June got up and shook his hand. "I'm June Faversham," she said. She looked at George, and wondered how she could have overlooked him. He was at least 6'8" and he was handsome and broad-shouldered with a shock of brown hair. His eyes were brown, too, with a tinge of green. They were kind; it felt good to look into them.

"You're not taking part in the festivities, either?" he said.

"No," June said. "I'm not." She tried to give him a noncommittal look, but to her horror she didn't manage to. She bit her lower lip and repeated, "I'm not, no."

He looked at her and said, "Do sit down again. Can I get you something to drink?"

She slumped into her chair and said, "Yes please. Could you get me a stiff whisky?"

He nodded. "I won't be a minute," he said.

But he was a little longer that he'd wanted to. When he crossed the room to reach the table that held the bottles, he was accosted by an unpleasant man who said, "Excuse me, but I'd like to warn you about the woman you've just spoken to."

"I beg your pardon?" George said. "Warn me? I'm quite old enough to take care of myself, thank you."

"Oh, but you don't know. She is quite the village slut. Quite likely to give you the clap, you know. Made a lot of victims..."

George put out his hand, and said, "Thank you very much, Mr... er?"

"Jones, Jim Jones." He took the hand he was offered.

George gave him a mirthless smile and squeezed.

"Ouch! Mind what you're doing!"

"Thank you very much for warning me about yourself. I vaguely seem to remember your face... Let me tell you that any more of this will have me hot on your trail, Mr... Jones?"

Mr Jones squirmed. George's handshake was painful in the extreme.

George relinquished his hand, and looked at him. He was over a head taller, and his withering stare, combined with his size, could be very intimidating. Mr Jones seemed to shrink.

"You could go and complain to Mary-Anne but maybe that might prove just a wee bit embarrassing. If so, I think you'd better make yourself scarce," George said.

Mr Jones didn't reply. He turned on his heels and hurried out of the room, without as much as taking leave of his host and hostess. George remained standing motionlessly until he'd seen the last of him; then he poured a glass of orange juice and a stiff whisky and returned to June.

"Here you are," he said. "I don't like this sort of do very much, you know. I used not to go anywhere on my own at all, until my wife passed away..."

He stared into the dying fire and bent over to pick up a log which he put on the red hot ashes. He watched it produce a little smoke and then burst into flame. "I thought I had to get some social life again. Bad idea. But I think there may have been a reason for it..." He gave her a questioning look. "Did you come across a certain Jim Jones?"

June stiffened.

"I see," George said. "Unpleasant character, that. He's left, but I'm not quite certain he may not be lurking in the neighbourhood. You'd better not leave alone tonight."

June took a big swig of her drink. "How do you know?" she said.

George gave her a grim smile. "I'm a lawyer," he said. "I have seen this person a couple of times, under various aliases. He's not called Jim Jones, that much I know. What did he want from you?"

"How do I know I can trust you?" June said. "You may be in league with him for all I know."

"You're right," George said. "You could ask Mary-Anne, who will speak for me. Here is my card - but I know that, too, may be false."

June took the card from him. It said G. Jillings, QC. "One moment," she said.

Mary-Anne confirmed that George was indeed who he said he was. "His wife died last spring," she said. "He'd been living like a recluse ever since, so I am happy to see him here. But I don't think it is his kind of fun, really. I'd better ask him over for a meal one of these days. Where is he?"

"He's over there, at the fire," June said. "I'll go and talk to him some more."

George grinned at her when she sat down again. "OK?" he said.

June nodded. "I'm happy that creep has gone," she said.

"Yes. What happened? Or is that too horrible to tell?"

June swirled the whisky around in her glass, and looked at it. Then she looked at George for a moment. It took quite some courage to tell him what had happened, and she didn't want to look at him while she did, so she stared into the fire while she told him all about her past, and how she'd gone to the party by tube, happy to start socialising again, and how the past had seemed to have overtaken her that evening.

"I was afraid it would be something unspeakable," George said, "but I wasn't prepared for something as bad as this. I should have squeezed his hand a little longer."

He shook his head. "I don't think he'll trouble you any more. I would like to see you home nevertheless. I dislike the idea of your going home by tube. Right?"

June nodded. "Do you live my way?"

"Oh, near enough. It'll be no trouble at all. Do you like books? I was just going through this one -" he picked up the book he'd put down when he introduced himself to her - "and it seems quite interesting."

"Can I have a look?" June said. She didn't know too much about books, apart from the novels she read, but she felt it was uncivil not to pretend to an interest in it. It was quite a beautiful book, actually.

"It looks quite old," she said. She went to the title page, which said MDCLXXIII, and deciphered the date. "1673," she said. "Yes. That really is old."

George nodded. He grinned at June, and said, "What do you do in your spare time?"

He looked at her while she told him about her hobbies - music, singing in particular, and playing the oboe. No, she didn't play in an orchestra, and she wasn't a great musician either...

He saw a young woman with clear grey eyes. They looked rather tired, which he put down to that evening's experiences. She had a wide mouth and dark blonde hair that she wore in a roll in her neck, and she was dressed in green jeans and a grey sweater. She wore hardly any make-up, which he liked, and no jewellery apart from a thin gold necklace with a small pendant. She would be some ten years younger than he was, he thought. It was always difficult to guess people's ages. He wished that she'd not have had that so-called boyfriend of hers, that De Vere fellow. There really were a lot of rotters around. Damn. This was much too nice a girl for that kind of trouble.

June fell silent. George noticed she had finished her whisky. "Another drink?" he said.

June shook her head. "I think I'd rather go home," she said.

George nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's go."

They went and took their leave of Mary-Anne. "Mary," George said, "did you invite that fellow with the thin, pinched face?"

"No," she said. "I think he arrived together with Jill, and I took it she'd brought him... Why?"

"Oh," George said, "he's one of life's undesirables. Better not let him in again."

"Do you think he may have taken something?" Mary-Anne said, rather alarmed.

George shook his head. "Not in his line," he said, "but I'm happy to know he was gate-crashing. I like having something on him."

He gave a grim smile. Then he said, "Thank you for having me around, Mary. I'm afraid I may not have been the life and soul of the party..."

"I was glad to see you, George. I'll invite you over for dinner some time soon, ok?"

She kissed him on the cheek, and then said goodbye to June.

Together they walked to George's car. He drove a Saab, and he opened the door for June. She sat down in the car feeling relieved she didn't have to go by underground. George closed her door and looked around; to his satisfaction there was no one lurking in the shadows.

"Alright. Here we go," he said. "Do tell me where exactly I drop you off!"

June did, and they sat talking about London, and George's work, until they arrived at June's apartment.

"Thank you very much!" she said as she left the car. "You brought an awful evening to a nice end!"

"Glad to have been there," George said. "I highly enjoyed your company, June."

She gave him a smile and a wave of her hand as he slowly drove off. She went in and locked the door. She felt hungry, and went into the kitchen for a snack before she went to bed. She really hoped that man wouldn't start slandering her; but George was nice. Really nice. He had beautiful eyes, and a voice that was melodious and sexy at the same time. If only her boyfriends had been like that... She wondered where he lived, and then she remembered he'd given her his card. What could she have done with it? She got up and went to the living-room to see if it was in her bag. It was. Good! But he didn't live near her place at all. So he must have got out of his way to get her home safely. Oh wow! She'd have to think about that. Maybe he was just a real gentleman - or could he perhaps like her a little? She went back to bed to ponder the question but what with all the stress and tension of that day she fell asleep when she hit the pillow.

George grinned a little when he drove off. She really was a nice lass, and, if anything, the opposite of the stories some people seemed to tell about her, he thought. Then he directed his attention to the traffic.

Some forty minutes later he pulled up on the drive, went inside and walked to his study. There was an oil painting of his wife on the wall over a group of filing cabinets, and he nodded at her. "I'm back," he said. "Had to help a young woman." He looked at his watch and decided he'd better go to bed. "It's getting late, sweetheart. See you tomorrow," he added and left the room.

He went to bed, but being tired didn't help this time, and he lay in the semi-darkness of the Greater London night, looking at the ceiling and thinking of Joan. She'd been dead for over a year now. He missed her frightfully much - her warmth, her nearness, having someone to talk to. He was of a retiring disposition, and Joan's ebullience had nicely countered his inclination to become a recluse. The encounter with June - June sounds almost like Joan, he thought - hadn't done much to grant him a peaceful night's sleep. She was nice. Rather more than nice, perhaps. He sighed.

Then he suddenly sat up. That face. That pinched, shifty face... Damn. There was something the matter with it. He tried to remember what it was. There was something... He got up and went down the stairs and into his office. He went to one of the filing cabinets, and started going through the data, starting about a year earlier, and it wasn't long before he found the name he was looking for. He nodded grimly, and decided to contact Jay Morrison, a friend of his in the London Met first thing in the morning. Then he went back to bed and to sleep.

He called Jay before breakfast. Initially his telephone call was greeted with shocked silence on the other end. Then he was asked over to come and talk immediately. He did have the time, did he? He did.

At the station he was first shown a couple of pictures in which he recognised the man he'd met the evening before, usually in the company of another unfavourable-looking gentleman. "This is him," he said, "but I don't think I've ever seen the other beauty."

"That is John De Vere. He served time twice, once for domestic violence and once for attempted manslaughter. We know he even abused his parents, and we fear he may have got on to far more unsavoury practices. But we have lost sight of him. After these pictures were taken he escaped the supervision of his probation officer."

"John De Vere - that's the fellow who spread the slander about June. They do make a nice couple, don't they?"

It appeared that Mr so-called Jones, or Bob Brown, according to the official papers, whom George remembered as a fraudster and wholesale conman, had developed into a rapist and was sought for the murder of at least one young woman. The victim had been found raped with a slit throat, bound and blindfolded, and witnesses who'd seen a person lurking in the neighbourhood had all pointed out his picture without the least hesitation. There had been a couple of other murders during the same period that might have been done by the same perpetrator, though, and they were very interested indeed, and more than a little bit concerned about June's welfare. He was probably in London still, and he might well be incensed against June. You never knew; his contacts with John De Vere didn't spell much good for her. This might be their chance to lay hands on him, though. They'd have to keep tabs on June as they didn't want another victim.
George almost exploded. But he was too professional to give in to his feelings. Instead he set about to get every guarantee there would not be any tricks that might endanger June in the least.

The police sent a car round to June's house with an officer dressed in overalls, who could easily masquerade as a plumber, to investigate the building. On ringing the doorbell he noticed that the front door lock was of a very simple kind, the sort of lock any master key would unlock without too much trouble. He pulled up his nose at the sight.

June was very suspicious at first, although the officer's identification seemed above board. "Why don't you call Mr Jillings while I get my gear from the car?" Jack Barnes, the officer, suggested.

June did and was reassured by his voice. George didn't mince matters but told her plainly who and what they might be up against - though he stopped short of mentioning murder. June understood, and welcomed Jack into her place. He found a small Edwardian house with a long corridor that ran from the hall to a tiny room at the back with a solid wooden door into the garden. In the corridor there were doors into the living-room, the kitchen and the cellar, and there was an arch giving to the stairs.

He first opened the back door. A few steps went down into a rather long garden that was surprisingly well-kept, he thought. At the back of the garden there was a fence with a door in it. The thing looked rather flimsy, in his opinion.

June explained that the door gave to a narrow path running between the houses from a side street. It was hardly ever used, and as there were disused bins and an old and broken bicycle in there, it wasn't too attractive either.

Jack walked to the fence, opened the door and had a look. He nodded. "Let's go back inside," he said.

The police officer spent a considerable time checking the lay of the land. "This may all be completely unnecessary," he said when he was ready. "But then again, there is a chance that your address is known and that you will be attacked. We will take every possible measure to ensure you will not come to harm, and we do want to apprehend the men involved. You will be watched, for a considerable time, if need be, and we will put up a few cameras, both inside the house and in the road. It will mean that you'll have to dress in the bathroom."

"It makes me feel very uncomfortable," June said.

"I know. I'm afraid it is the best thing we can do, and moving won't help much if you are an intended victim."

June nodded. "Yes, I understand that. Still... I do hope you'll find them soon."

"We'll arrange for Rachel Mitchell, one of our lady officers, to come and work in your firm; she lives in your neighbourhood and you will go to work and return home together. I am very sorry for the inconvenience."

Jack gave some more details. Then he went to work and fitted a microphone in the hall that was strong enough to record outside noises and speech, put up a few cameras, made a few smudges on his trouser legs and left.

A little later the police parked an old banger almost across the road from June's house. They'd rigged it with a small, hi-tech camera to keep an eye on the road and June's front door.

June began to feel very uncomfortable indeed. When she'd been at Mary-Anne's party, it had been unpleasant, but now she understood it to be truly dangerous. She hoped the police would find the men soon, so she could go on with her life...

Meanwhile the police sent a couple of officers to check the surveillance cameras around Norwood Junction tube station. On one of the cameras the footage showed that Mr Brown had gone into the station and spent a couple of hours lurking there. And he did not remain alone either; Mr De Vere showed up after a very short time. They carefully saved a few copies; it increased their anxiety about June's welfare considerably.

George had spent most of the morning at the police station. When there was nothing more for him to do he went home. There was a brief he had to concentrate on, but he found it an impossible task. Joan's portrait didn't give any solace, either. He just kept hearing June's frightened voice and seeing her face in his mind, her wide mouth and the half smile she'd flashed him a couple of times at Mary-Anne's party. At one moment he even found himself wondering what she looked like under those decent clothes, and then he got so angry with himself that he actually did get some work done.

June's weekend would have been uneventful but for the intense feelings of discomfort. She didn't manage to settle down to any structured activity. She found herself walking round and looking surreptitiously out of the window, but nothing happened, and she just entirely wasted her weekend.

That Monday morning someone rang her bell some five minutes before she was about to leave. June looked through the visor in the door and saw a cheerful young woman standing on her doorstep. She remembered Jack's words and opened the door for her. "Hi June," the woman said as she stepped inside. "I'm Rachel Mitchell."

Indoors she showed her identification, so June needn't worry, she said. "And we are convinced the men that we're after will not attack you in the streets. They're after a different kind of fun." When June had put on her coat they left together. They walked to the tube station and disappeared into London's underbelly.

To the squad's intense excitement the cameras registered the gentlemen they were looking for that very afternoon. They carried rucksacks and they wore hats, but the cameras were good enough not to leave the police in any doubt. They walked up to June's house, looking over their shoulders on entering her garden, and the De Vere character slipped a key into June's front door. It took him some time, but he managed to open the door without trouble. The two men went inside.

As soon as they'd come into view, the police came into action. They started recording their conversations, alerted the two civilian-type cars already there and they sent five more cars around to June's neighbourhood. Their quarry was far too important for them to run the slightest risk of an escape. They kept close contact with the station where the conversation of the two men was taped and listened to with horror, since the gentlemen, who were apparently somewhat on edge, had embarked on a violent quarrel about their recent activities in which they accused the other of all the things they'd done they shouldn't have. The list was gruesome and included the murders the police had not yet been able to link to them, plus a couple of rapes, one of which hadn't come off according to plan, it seemed. A lot to follow up, they decided with grim satisfaction.

The men were seen ascending the stairs, and going into June's bedroom. A little later they came down again without their rucksacks. At one point they had apparently found Jane's small selection of wine, and after some time the police heard them clink glasses and outline the plan for the evening. When they had finished, the listeners wiped the perspiration from their foreheads. "Thank God we were put on the right track," Morrison said. "Let's keep this from that young woman, for God's sake. I think we've got enough on them now. Let's go for them!"

The police drove into the street with howling sirens. They had taken enough measures to ensure there would be no escape. As they had expected, the intruders made for freedom at the back of the house. The back door opened outward. It was really strong, though, and the key had been removed from the lock by the lady officer that morning. There was nothing for it but to force it open. The control room heard them count down and then the uniformed men and the officer in mufti who'd assembled in the garden saw them come crashing onto the terrace in an untidy heap. John De Vere landed on his shoulder, and they could actually hear his collarbone snap. Bob Brown got up and tried to run for it, but to no avail. He was tripped up and handcuffed. A body-search revealed a flick-knife and a couple of knuckle dusters; John, who lay moaning and writhing in an untidy heap, carried a revolver.

When Bob was on his feet again he stood looking at the policemen, panting. "I demand that you let me go," he said. "I didn't do anything!"

Jay Morrison looked at him with distaste. "We will take you to the police station for questioning," he said. "And when, if ever, we let you go, you will be so old... Forget it, baby."

"I should have knifed that man at the party," Brown said. "The bastard!"

"Right you are!" the senior officer said. "Off with you!"

They marched their catch to a police van and drove to the station. A couple of them went through the house to pick up the men's rucksacks and see what damage, if any, they had done. June's wardrobe had been gone through. Her underwear was on the floor, and there was a coil of rope on the bed, together with a piece of cloth obviously meant as a blindfold. A female officer tidied June's clothes and made her bedroom presentable again, while the others removed the men's stuff. They left when they'd gone through the entire house.

Jack Barnes stayed behind to let in the men they'd called to replace the back door. While he was waiting for them to arrive he removed the cameras he'd put up. Then he tidied up the mess the men had made in the kitchen. They'd upset a glass of wine, and treated themselves to some food. A little more courtesy would have been in place, Jack thought.

The builders came twenty minutes later and set to work efficiently and fast. They made something of a mess, too, but they meticulously cleaned up after themselves.

At the station Jay called George and told him all danger to June was over now the two men had been arrested. George felt his chest swell with relief.

"Thank God," he said. "The possibility of her coming a cropper has been on my mind all the time. Do you think you've got enough on them?"

"Oh yes, we have," Jay said. "More than enough!" He briefly told George about the men's quarrel - yes, with a full list of names, thank goodness - and George echoed his own thoughts when he said June had better not learn about it.

When Jay had rung off, George looked at Joan's portrait. "Danger's over," he said, and smiled. Joan smiled back, a little Mona Lisa like, George thought. He nodded at her and left the room.

Jack Barnes stayed put until June returned that evening in the company of Ms Mitchell, who'd been good company. June really liked her a lot. It was a pity they'd not met before, she thought; they could have become fast friends. "Jack?" Rachel said. "What's up?"

"We've got them," Jack said. "Their game's up, and you're safe, June."

"Are you sure? There is no chance there are more of them? And they won't be let off?"

"They quarrelled and gave all the information we want, and we have it all on tape, all over and above board. And no, there were no other people in it. But it's a damn good thing you chanced upon old Jillings. If you hadn't..." He suddenly remembered he wasn't supposed to talk about it, and shook his head. "All people need a little luck in their lives and apparently you were on, this time!"

June returned a rather crooked smile. Then she burst into tears. The tension of the last four days and the relief at being out of it were too much. It took Rachel Mitchell quite some time to calm her a little.

"Do you want me to stay tonight?" she asked. "Just in case you get overcome again?"

"No... But would you mind staying a little longer and having dinner with me? I'll order some Chinese takeaway."

Rachel didn't mind. Jack left, and the women had dinner together. June's place wasn't big enough to boast a dining room; she had a small dining table with four chairs in the living-room. They had almost finished when the doorbell rang. Rachel went to the door and found George waiting on the steps. She recognised him immediately and let him in.

"Hello June," he said as he entered the living-room. "I just wanted to see with my own eyes you're alright." He smiled at her, and she felt unaccountably happy he'd come to see her, and beamed at him.

"Please sit down," she said. "We've almost finished our dinner."

"Do go on and don't mind me, please," George said. He sat down in one of the easy chairs, rather dwarfing it but not caring, and looked at the women, and then around the room. It was quite a feminine room, quite unlike his quarters, he thought. But it was well-cared-for, tidy and friendly, with light-cream wallpaper and raw silk curtains. Its furnishing were of good quality, and he felt quite at home there.

In one corner of the room her oboe stood next to a music stand that held a Vivaldi score. He briefly wondered how good she was. She might well have been modest about her skills, he expected. There were a few portraits on the wall. One of them showed a couple in Edwardian clothes, and the other a young woman with a sweet face that looked a lot like June, but without the wide mouth, and with auburn hair. George guessed she might be June's mother, or perhaps a sister - definitely a blood relation.

He looked at the two women eat. June had excellent table manners, and Rachel's weren't half bad, either. He smiled a little to himself. Joan had always commented on it, and he had heard her do so so often that he'd started noticing it, too. Joan would certainly have made some comment as soon as she was out of earshot, sometimes scathing, sometimes rather friendly; it depended on the way she felt about the people involved. He wondered what she'd have thought of June. She'd have liked her, he supposed. She had good manners and a friendly disposition, and he didn't think Joan would have been fooled by June's nervous appearance.

After Joan's death he had met one woman he liked, but when he tried to hear what Joan could have thought of her, he had to admit to himself she wouldn't have judged her too favourably... It was enough to make him put an end to seeing her.

The ladies finished their meal and went into the kitchen to clear the things away. Would George like a cup of coffee? He would, and after some minutes the women returned with a tray with three cups and some biscuits. George drank his coffee first and then inquired after June's mood and state of mind.

June pulled a face at him. "I feel completely bewildered, really," she said. "I don't really know what's happened. It seems that man's been arrested, and my back door had to be replaced. But that's about all I know. And I must have run some big risk, but I'm not quite sure of what, and the police apparently were very worried that it could be something very bad... Rape, probably." She stared into her cup for a moment. "I felt very, very afraid, really, and not knowing of what didn't make it any better. And now I don't have to be afraid any longer, it feels as if I've just finished my studies and there's only emptiness left, you know?"

She shook her head. "I told you about John's slander campaign, and that I thought I'd effectively got rid of it, and then this awful man appeared. I hope it won't begin again now but I'm none too confident it won't. I'm glad I met you at that party. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't."

George gave her a grim smile. "It's certainly a good thing you sat down in that chair. If you hadn't you'd probably be dead by now."

June felt her hair stand on end. "Was it that bad?" she whispered.

George nodded. "It was. The man you met and that John De Vere character were in it together, and they were lurking in the tube station, waiting for you. I think you wouldn't have made it home. They're sure to get a life sentence. You were not their first quarry, I'm afraid."

June sat looking at him as if she saw a ghost. She remained silent for quite some time. Then she said, "I'm glad I didn't know. It's unbelievable, really."

"Yes," George said. "Psychopaths are always impossible to understand. You'd better not try. If half possible, try and forget about them. I know it's easier said than done, but still... Playing the oboe seems a much better idea." He smiled at her.

June nodded dubiously. "It does, but I need some peace of mind to make it sound like music at all." She passed her hands over her face. "I suppose I'll feel unsafe for a long time."

George nodded. "Yes," he said. "I don't think that can be helped. You'll be asked to make a statement to the police, for one thing. But you can call me anytime you need a human voice to reassure you, or the police for all that. Jay Morrison will take care of you, too - and I promise to come running whenever you think I should. My landline number is on my card, and this is my mobile one." He wrote it down on a piece of paper from his wallet and handed it to her.

June suddenly broke into a smile. "You are a liar, aren't you?" she said. "You don't live in the neighbourhood at all! What made you see me home that night?"

"Gut feeling," George said. "And I just like your company. It prolonged our time together for forty-five minutes. Will that do?"

He looked at June gravely. It gave her a tingling feeling down her spine, a little odd but not at all unpleasant. "Yes," she said. "It will."

"Good," George said, and this time he did smile. He got up. "I think I'd better go home now. It will be early days tomorrow. Do you think you'll manage to squeeze some rest from the night?"

"Yes," June said. "I do think so. I'm dead tired. Thank you very much, the both of you. I do appreciate what you did for me no end!"

They shook hands, and Rachel and George left together. June stood in the doorway and watched them go. Then she went through the house to check the doors and windows and to see if the two intruders hadn't left anything behind, but the police had been too thorough for that. When she'd satisfied herself everything was in order she went to bed. She switched off the light and lay waiting for sleep to come, which it did quite fast, with the image of George's earnest face on her mind.

George drove home slowly. He felt he had to talk to Joan, but Joan's face was occasionally replaced by June's in his thoughts. Blast. He'd only seen June twice, once at the party and just now, and she'd been under a considerable amount of stress both times. She hadn't given him any reason to believe she even as much as liked him. She trusted him alright, he thought. He knew hardly anything about her. But that smile, that wide-mouthed smile, and those eyes... Come on, George, old fool, he thought. Be your age!

He went straight into his study when he came home, and sat down at his desk. Joan smiled at him from her frame on the wall opposite. She'd been his sweetheart at school and he'd loved her the way he'd thought you could only do once in your life. He'd been devastated when she died...

"Joan," he said, "I think I'm infatuated with June. If you think I shouldn't, please give me some sign!"

Joan didn't, and the telephone rang instead. George picked up the receiver to be greeted by Mary-Anne's happy voice. She'd planned a meal for the weekend, and would George come? He would, certainly. Then he told Mary-Anne about all that had happened since he'd left the party.

"Oh, no!" Mary-Anne said when he'd finished. "That explains things. She was very pale and quiet. The poor girl! That's absolutely horrible!"

"Yes," George said. "It is. I think she'll be alright, though. I do hope so!"

"I don't know her very well," Mary-Anne said. "She usually looks cheerful enough. What's she like?"

"She's quiet and well-behaved, and she has excellent table manners. She speaks good English, plays the oboe and -"

"Thank you, Joan. What does George think of her?"

George started to giggle. Mary-Anne had been a friend of Joan's; she'd befriended George, too, but she really knew Joan very well, possibly even better than he did, in some respects. And she was right, of course. He did sound exactly like Joan.
"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.
George arrived at a quarter to eleven. "I hope I'm not too early?" he asked when June opened the door.

"No, you're not," she said, feeling suddenly a little shy. "I've been waiting for you all morning."

George smiled at her, and then he bent down and took her head in his hands. "June! You look beautiful today!" he said. "May I kiss you?"

June nodded. Her voice seemed to desert her and she just offered him her lips. He put his lips on hers and she clasped her arms around his neck and held him close. He pressed her into his body while finding her tongue, and she closed her eyes. George's kisses were every bit as great as she'd hoped, and she sucked his tongue into her mouth greedily.

Their kiss lasted a long time. When they eventually stopped, a little out of breath, June said, "That was nice! You'd better take off your coat." George grinned and hung his coat on the rack in the hall. June smiled and said, "I'll get us some coffee, right?"

"Yes please," George said. He walked into the room where the CD was still on. He sat down in the same chair again.

June came in and smiled at the sight. "Maybe I should get a bigger chair," she said. "Do you like Handel? I used to listen to this music when I was a girl..."

"I do," George said. He picked up his cup and looked at June. "You do love music, don't you?"

June nodded. "This was my favourite piece," she said as she pressed the remote.

They listened in silence. George understood that music was no background thing for her. He'd been that kind of listener before his marriage; Joan would just talk straight through any music, and she would mock him for feeling shocked.

When the piece ended June turned the CD off. "I'll go and start the oven," she said.

George looked around the room; then he got up and walked across the room to have a look at a couple of photographs that stood on top of the rack housing June's CD collection. One showed a much younger June with an older version of the woman he'd seen in one of the portraits on the wall. He'd been right, he thought. The woman must be June's mother.

He was still looking at it when June returned from the kitchen. "This is your mother?" he said.

June nodded. "She died eight months ago," she said with a sigh. "My father got killed in a railway accident when I was very young - that's why I'm an only child. I can hardly remember him."

"She was as beautiful as you are," George said. "Did you get on together?"

"I loved her," June said. "It's really strange to find yourself all alone in in the world."

"I know," George said. "It is." He looked at the picture once more. Then he turned to June, who was standing so close to him he thought he could physically sense her warmth. "I'll be happy to make you feel less alone," he said.

June smiled at him. "Yes, please. I hoped you would," she said, and she took his hand.

George gently squeezed it, and kissed her on the lips. "Can I help you lay the table?" he said.

He could, and he did. June showed him where everything was, and George laid the table while she finished put the finishing touches to their lunch. She asked George to take the salad into the living-room and followed with the quiche.

They had lunch sitting opposite each other. The quiche was lovely, and George looked at June appreciatively. "You belittled your cooking skills, June," he said. "This is fantastic, not just passable. Are you sure you play the oboe only indifferently?"

June blushed. "I don't think I'm good," she said. "I never let anyone listen bar my instructor, and she never comments."

"I hope you'll let me listen. I'm not a good judge, I expect. But I can hear the difference between music and notes."

Lunch was very pleasant. George loved the meal. He was a hearty eater and June enjoyed watching him polish off a big piece of quiche. She didn't eat too much herself; she felt too full of happiness to have much of an appetite.

They cleared the table after lunch and then made themselves ready for the matinee. George led the way to his car and helped June in, and they drove off to Hampstead where the play would be, in one of the fringe theatres.

The doors were open when they arrived. The performance was not sold out but the company were quite pleased with the number of people in the audience. George offered June his arm, and they walked in together. June felt like walking on air. She also felt very much a woman, and looked radiant. George saw and understood. It made him feel very happy, and quite proud to have her on his arm.

They had a good place, close to but not too near the stage. The company put up a very enjoyable "Happy Days," with a brilliant Winnie, and they took two curtains. Then, to the audience's surprise the lights in the hall went out again and the stage remained in near darkness, too, as the cast gave a rendition of "Not I!"

June recognised it; she'd only read it but it had left a big impression. It was new for George, though.

The performance left the audience rather subdued at first. The applause was big, but it took most of them some time to find their voices again as they trooped out of the room to the foyer.

"Awful, isn't it?" June said. "It feels like a person's fears put into words..."

George nodded. "I loved watching it, though," he said. "Coffee?"

He took his place in the queue and June found a place at a tall table. George returned with a tray with two cappuccinos and two pieces of cake. He smiled at June and sat down beside her. She put a hand on his thigh and smiled back.

When they'd finished their coffee and cakes George said, "I've reserved a table at Mimmo's, but we're ninety minutes early. Care to come for a stroll?"

"George!" June said "That's great! I love Italian food! And yes, of course I'll come along."

They had a nice walk together, looking at the houses and talking about the plays they'd just seen, June's family, and George's. He told her how his father died a few years ago, and his mother was in an old people's home, completely demented. No, she didn't recognise him any more. She'd been like that when his father was still alive and even he had been a complete stranger to her. They'd always been very close, and it had been immensely painful to watch his father lose the wife he loved so much, slowly, gradually, inexorably. His father had taken it bravely, though. He used to say that his sadness was caused by the fact that they had been so much in love, and that when push came to shove he was really very, very grateful for the long, fantastic marriage they'd had.

June listened and nodded now and then. "Do you ever visit her?" she said when George paused.

"I do," George said, "but it is just to make sure she's as alright as she can be. I try to forget what I saw when I leave... I don't want this to taint the good memories I have of her. It's really not very nice."

"Maybe it will be better when we go together," June said.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not," June said. She put an arm round George's waist. "Not at all."

George hugged her tight for a moment. Then he bent down to kiss her. "I'm so happy I went to that party," he said and grinned at her.

They had a very nice meal. George had a pizza Montebianco and June chose a gnocchi dish with walnuts, and they had tiramisu for dessert, and coffee to finish.

Entirely satisfied they went back to the car. George drove back to June's house. They were lucky to find a parking slot very near.

"Thank you very much for a fantastic time! You will come in with me, won't you?" June asked.

George nodded. "Yes please," he said. "Will you let me listen to you play?"

June nodded. "If you promise not to laugh," she said with a half-smile.

She suddenly felt a shiver run down her back, and she was happy she wore a coat. She felt her nipples harden inside her bra, and she knew they'd have been very visible if she hadn't. He was coming in with her! Finally! She took his hand as they walked the little distance to her house, and looked up at his face. He smiled down at her. "Happy, baby?" he said.

She squeezed his hand and nodded. Then she let go of him and found her key. She opened the door and stepped aside to grant George entry. "Welcome," she said.

They went into the living room. June drew the curtains, and produced glasses and the wine she'd bought that Saturday.

"Shall I?" George asked, and when she nodded he opened the bottle.

June picked up her oboe and selected a piece by Cimarosa. George sat in his usual chair and listened carefully. He thought he could detect a little insecurity in June's playing, but it definitely wasn't just notes. The music took and held him.

When she ended, and looked at him a little nervously, he said, "Maybe you're not brash enough to make a performer - which is one of the things I like about you - but you are a musician, and that's a fact!"

June broke into a sunny smile. "That's a nice thing to say," she said. "Thank you very much!"

She sat down and picked up the glass of wine George had poured for her. "To us," she said.

George raised his glass and repeated, "To us!" He sighed contentedly. "It's a long time since I last felt so much at home. It feels as if I've known you for months... And I can't wait to hold you in my arms."

June put down her glass and rose. "Then why don't you, George? I'm longing for you to hold me, baby - please!"

George got up, too. "Are you sure it's okay? I don't want you to rush things for me..."

"Please, George! I'm sure it is. I'm on the pill - and I want you so much - for keeps!"

George bent down and June put her arms around his neck. He lifted her as though she didn't weigh anything at all, and she wrapped her legs around his hips while their mouths found each other. June looked into George's eyes, with the lovely irises - and then the bell rang.

George swore under his breath while June went to the door. It was Rachel Mitchell, who'd decided to go and find out how June was doing now at that very moment. Damn that woman! He knew from experience that this must mean the end for today. June would immediately lose all enthusiasm, and he'd have to hope she'd be in the mood again within days - sometimes weeks. When she was it was great... He sighed deeply.

Rachel came into the living-room chatting cheerfully. No, she'd just dropped by to see if there were anything she could do? Just a glass, then. No more. Her husband would be waiting, and if there wasn't anything... She was really well-intending, and George's anger at the interruption died down a bit. Still, he wished her in outer space or beyond.

When she'd drunk half her glass she asked to be shown where she could wash her hands. June did and came back in. George had finished his wine. June took the bottle, and as she was about to pour him another glass George said, "But baby, I won't be able to drive when I have another glass."

June grinned. "I don't want you to," she said. Then she pouted at him, blew him a kiss and asked, "You don't have to, do you? I've got a spare toothbrush..."

George's lower cheek almost dropped with surprise. Then he broke into a wolfish smile and held up his glass. June smiled from ear to ear and filled his glass as full as she could.

"There," she said, "that'll ground you properly!" and she bent over to kiss him. "You know," she said, "it would be so wonderful to know that you're there when I wake up in the mornings..."

He knew that she meant it, and he took her head in his hands. "I promise I will, baby - gladly!" he said, and he looked at her. He saw her face break slowly into a warm, soft smile, and he felt so happy he could cry.

Rachel came back in, and June straightened herself. The women smiled at each other. Rachel picked up her glass and lifted it. "To the both of you!" she said. She drained it and went to George. "Lots of happiness, George," she said. Then she kissed June. "I hope that you'll invite me to your wedding," she said with a wink.

Then she got up to leave, and George and June went with her to the door. "We will, Rachel," she said, and George nodded.

Rachel smiled and waved them goodbye. They watched as she disappeared round the corner of the street, and closed the door.

They went back into the living-room, and finished their wine. Then June got up, took George's hand and she raised her eyebrows questioningly. George gently pulled her his way and she sat down on his lap and she kissed him squarely on the mouth. Then she said, "Shall we go upstairs? I've been hoping so hard you'd really want me... I masturbated thinking about you last night. It was one of the best comes I've ever had." She blushed hard. "You'll have to teach me what you like best."

"Do let's," George said, and he stroked June's cheek and smiled at her. He supposed he must look silly with happiness but he knew he wouldn't to June. When she'd got up he rose, too, and stretched himself. June held his hand as if she thought he might run off as they ascended the stairs. She showed him into her bedroom. She had quite a big bed, but she briefly wondered if it would be big enough for George to sleep in comfortably.

George looked around almost reverently. "You've got a very nice bedroom," he said.

June smiled and stood on tiptoe to reach his face. "Kiss me, please - want to undress me?" she asked. George swallowed. There was nothing he'd rather do, and he kissed his lady love hard. She kissed him passionately, and he loved every moment of their kiss as he ran his hands all over her body. It was wonderful, feeling the shape of her breasts. They felt soft and firm. He could feel her hard nipples through the various layers of cloth, and he felt his cock respond almost at once.

June was happy she'd bought the new underthings she was wearing, and she felt George get hard. She hoped seeing her in half undress would make him more excited still. George took the hem of her sweater and lifted it over her head. Then he undid the buttons of her blouse, slowly, delightedly. She had beautiful breasts, big but not too large, and George weighed them for a moment on his hands. He loved the colour and texture of her bare skin, and the white bra with small red accents and diaphanous cups showing her dark areola and her pink, erect nipples, and revelled in feeling her breasts through the thin material. "I'll leave that on you for the moment," he said hoarsely as he unbuttoned her trousers.

June stepped out of her shoes, happy she'd gone shopping that Saturday. It did indeed seem to have its effect on George. "You like it, don't you?" she asked. He nodded, and she smiled at him while she took the hairpins from her hair and shook it loose. It was quite long, and fell all the way to her breasts.

George looked up at what she was doing. "Wow!" he said. "I didn't realise your hair's that long!" Then he knelt down before her and pulled her trousers down her legs. She wore matching white panties, and he could see her pubic hair shimmer through the front panel. He slipped her short, nylon socks off her feet, stroked her vulva and then got up to kiss her again. June rubbed her breasts against his chest, into his body, and began to open his trousers while they started duelling with their tongues.

When his belt and fly had come undone she unbuttoned his shirt, purposefully and efficiently, and then she stood back a little and passed her hands all over his chest to reach his shoulders and shove his shirt down his arms. Locking her mouth on George's again she pushed his trousers and boxers together down. When his cock sprang free it pressed into her belly and she paused for a moment to touch it. It made her eyes open wide. Everything about George was large, and his cock was no exception. She wrapped a small hand around it and felt the blood pulsate. She put her other arm around George's neck, and kissed him hungrily. Then she finished what she'd started and removed the remainder of his clothes. She stepped back to survey the result - it came more than up to expectation. He was slim and muscular, with only little hair on his chest. He was well-built, and she loved the colour of his cock, darkish with a smooth, shiny purple tip, standing up and a little to the left.

George feasted his eyes on June, too. She had a nicely rounded belly with a small dimpled belly button, wide hips and just the right plumpness to his liking. "Come, my beauty," he said. "I want you completely naked now."

June turned around and stepped back so George could easily unhook her bra; then she turned round again and held out her arms. He pulled the piece of clothing off her arms and her breasts fell free. They were firm enough not to sag, and he touched them with both hands, and drew little circles around her hard nipples. June smiled and put her hands on his for a moment. Then George knelt before her and slipped her panties down her legs. He kissed her navel and then bent his head to the convergence of her thighs to sniff her smell and to plant a kiss on the tuft of pubic hair he'd seen through her panties.

He rose and held her in his arms. The feeling of her hard nipples and her firm belly against his body made him go harder still, and he kissed her deeply while he fondled her buttocks with one hand. June felt for his cock again and she stroked her hand up and down his shaft.

"George," she said, "please lie down! I want to touch you all over and get to know your body..."

George nodded and she let go of him and led him to the bed. She pushed the duvet aside and George stretched himself on the sheets. He could just lie long without his feet sticking out, June noticed. She smiled and climbed up on the bed and sat down on his thighs, facing him. She bent over to kiss him again; then she sat up again and started to stroke his shoulders and chest, feeling every inch and paying a lot of attention to his nipples. His cock stood up straight before her and she move her bottom a bit so that it touched her belly, and she put her right hand around it. She rubbed him softly. It was great to have his cock in her hand, she thought, soft, and resilient, and hard, too... She felt the tip with her fingers, and then slid her hand down his shaft again.

George had put his hands around her bottom and stroked her back from there. He looked at her, sitting there, earnestly looking at him, seemingly trying to see through his eyes into his soul, until she broke into a smile, bent over to kiss him again and then lifted herself to rub his cock along her slit. It came unexpected but it was very welcome... His erection had grown really painful, and he longed for it to be bathed in June's wet pussy.

"Ready?" June said.

"Please! You're driving me mad!" George said, and June let him slip inside. She went down on his cock very slowly, as she was uncertain how much of him she could accommodate. To her immense joy and relief she could take him all in, and she squeezed his stem encouragingly with her pussy walls while she lay down to rub his chest with her nipples. George groaned. June looked at him impishly. She ran a wet tongue from his chin to his eyebrows and licked both his eyes.

Then she took his head in her hands and kissed him. "You are so big inside, baby," she whispered. "You feel so good in me..."

George swallowed hard. To his immense surprise he was close to tears. "I love you, baby," he said, "all of you... Come!" He wrapped his arms around her back and found her tongue.

June lay still for a little while, revelling in the closeness of their bodies and the wonderful feeling of his hard cock in her pussy. Then she lifted her hips until she'd only a few inches of his length inside and pressed down on him again, slowly and softly at first, then harder and faster, and more insistent, fucking him with all the love she felt for him.

George pressed his buttocks into the mattress so he could buck up on her downstroke, and he stroked the side of her breasts, and kneaded those lovely buns. June was covered in perspiration. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and softly bit him; then she raised herself on her arms and picked up speed. She looked into his eyes, and found all she wanted in them. "Oh, baby, yes, baby - so good!" she said.
George watched her starry-eyed. He'd not expected it would be this good first time round. He stared into her sweet face, overwhelmed by her beauty, speechlessly happy she was so comfortable with him. June moaned and panted. Her breasts were swinging up and down as she rode him, and he fervently wished time would stop and swallow them to prolong the moment forever. He held her sides with his hands to feel her smooth skin, and to exert further pressure every time their pubic bones touched.

June ran her hands over his chest and when she found his nipples she pinched them firmly. George drew his breath sharply, and she grinned at him. Then she bent down to kiss him sweetly on the lips, put her arms around him and rolled over.

"Go for it, baby!' she urged him on. "Fuck me hard! Make me come..."

George drew up his knees a little and grabbed June's hips. Then he lunged forward and used the muscles of his buttocks to give it to his sweetheart good and hard, looking at her face all the while. June's breathing got more and more ragged, and when she could hardly stand it anymore she clasped his hips with her legs and spurred him on with her heels while she pulled him down on top of her and squeezed his shoulders with her hands.

She came hard, with a shudder, moaning into George's mouth and contracting around his cock in ripples. George needed a few more strokes; but he came hard upon June's heels. She felt his seed spurt into her in blasts, warm and wet... He collapsed on top, with his head beside hers, panting hard, stroking her cheek with his left hand, waiting for his racing heartbeat to slow down and his breath to go back to normal, blissfully happy.

So was June. When her orgasm had subsided she affectionately squeezed George's cock with her pussy walls, and turned her face his way to kiss him. "Happy, too, baby?" she whispered.

"More than just happy," George answered in a low voice. "Over the moon, my love!"

She looked in his eyes and she saw it was true, and by his happiness she knew that the long period of drought John's slanderous campaign had caused her had stopped then and there, and that anyone trying to prolong it would find their armour impenetrable and strong, stronger than the sharpest snide remarks they might launch. She took George's head in her hands. "Thank you so much, baby," she said. "You're the best that ever happened to me! Do you know Christina Rossetti's 'A Birthday'? That's exactly how I feel." She quoted it softly, and George's heart sang.

"To stay," he added, and kissed her.