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“ There’s plenty for Guy to take on here Margot.” Iris was saying, “The war-effort took the last of our workers away some while ago.” As I listened, I felt naturally at ease with her and found her enthusiasm in the face of austerity infectious. “Oh Margot, There’s so much I want to show you here. It’s an ideal place for our lads to share together this summer. I’m sure you’ll feel the same in a day or so and I have a lovely little room ready for you” Iris would have to be in her mid thirties like myself yet had that confidence of a woman in control. She was wearing jodhpurs and as we came up to the stable yard it occurred to me she rode horses. “Do you ride much Iris?” I asked peering into the stable. “Only a hack round the lanes when the weather’s OK; how about yourself?” “Well, I sometimes get my bike out on a fine day.” I quipped, “How many horses are there?” I inquired. Iris laughed, “Only my gelding now, he’s grazing in the meadow: several were stabled here before the war but. I joined Eric at the back of the car. He was resting his chin on one hand, as if he was appreciating a painting in a museum. I knew how he felt, the car was jammed with boxes. Somehow, we made it work and now there was the unenviable task of knowing where to start.“My, that looks like a lot of boxes,” a voice said behind us.We both turned and was greeted by a woman. The first thing I noticed was her piercing blue eyes. They looked like sapphires glinting in the early morning sun. She wore a beautiful purple dress that struggled to contain the generous curves of her breasts. Her skin was porcelain white, contrasted with her jet black hair, blood-red lips and dark, smokey eye shadow. My immediate impression that I got from her was elegance that was hiding a touch of sensuality. I flicked a glance at my son and he was similarly mesmerised. Well, his eyes couldn’t peel away from her cleavage.I tapped the back of his leg and hoped the jolt would help pull his jaw up.“Hello, I’m Vesperia.
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A bit later on I once again I found myself at her bus stop. ‘Can I come back to yours?’ I asked ‘If you want’ she grinned I found that with Jane she was USUALLY entirely passive. She’d let the band of the Grenadier Guards have her, but it would be THEIR fault, their decision. She’d just gone along with it. For whatever reason this was her ethic. So we took the night bus back to her flat on Middleton Hall Road, if you’re interested. I get the odd reader who knows Birmingham. Talking of telephone numbers, the telephone in her flat had no number displayed inside the dial, the cardboard disc had been reversed and on it was written the word ‘nosey’. This was evidently aimed at any of the many male visitors to her little boudoir who wanted to take her contact number away with them. She put a record on, the slow side of Rod Stewart’s Atlantic crossing. Her record deck was one which played the side then went back to the start, and played it again, Sam. We got inside and she sat on.

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