Free Before and After by Laura Lockington Page B

really I don’t!”
    I wasn’t at all surprised. Primates do it all the time.
    “It’s quite all right, you’ve been wanting to do that for some time, haven’t you?” I said softly, watching a blush sweep over her face and neck.
    Sylvia made no answer but started to brush the fiery strands and tendrils of my hair with gentle rhythmic strokes.
    It was trés relaxing.
    I imagined my hair as Sylvia must be seeing and feeling it. Soft, silky and definitely alive under her hands. Diamond clear and sparky. Every follicle clean and glowing with an almost unnatural health.
    “Divine,” I purred at her, “But perhaps just a little harder?”
    Sylvia adjusted the firmness of her strokes, and I slipped my hands under the lapels of my dressing gown, opening them to allow some cool night air to circulate on my flesh.
    “Unaccountably warm for the time of year, isn’t it?” I said, lowering my head to look at Sylvia with a Princess Di flirt.
    Sylvia’s hands faltered slightly in their task, and her breathing became something out of her control.
    Oh good.
    I moved slightly on the bed, turning my body so that my weight was on one hip. It allowed Sylvia to reach the back of my hair, and she was leaning forward to do so, when the knock on the door that I had been waiting for came. The firmness of it didn’t surprise me at all. Testosterone is a hormone that makes aggressors of us all.
    “Do come in Hal,” I said, watching Sylvia drag herself away from me.
    She found it hard to look at her son, who was lounging in the doorway looking as surprised as if he’d just walked into an igloo and found us all skinning a seal or playing dice with a polar bear.
    “Yes?” I said helpfully, smiling brightly at him.
    “I was just passing and I, well, I umm, wanted to say good night,” Hal mumbled.
    “Good night Hal, sleep well,” I called from the bed, noting with great internal amusement that he too had only approached me as far as Archie had. Perhaps there was an Amble floorboard that none of them could pass?
    Sylvia jumped up from the bed and moved towards the door. “I think that was a hundred,” she said, “I’m not sure, I seemed to have lost count. I must go to bed as well. Do sleep well Flora, won’t you?”
    I smiled pityingly at her. Poor thing. Thwarted passion is very tiring indeed.
    “Oh yes. I’m sure I will. Good night to you all, and do tell Marmaduke that he’s welcome to sleep outside my door, I think he feels a bit guilty about it, but no need at all. He’s never any trouble.”
    The door closed behind them both and I allowed a gale of laughter to issue from my mouth. How lovely they’d all been. Just what I wanted.
    I knew with a deep certainty that I could enjoy a delicious night’s sleep with no bothersome nocturnal interruptions. They were all far too timid to encroach on the object of their desire, the dears .
    I bounced experimentally on the bed, and as I suspected from last night’s slumber, Archie and Sylvia had invested in a thoroughly comfortable mattress. Thank God. A word of advice here: do not, I beg you, skimp on this most essential of items. Whatever your taste in décor and whatever your means, no expense should be spared on your bed. Or pillows and bolsters, linen and quilts. If necessary sell the family silver. And whilst I’m on the subject, a word on bedside tables; the bigger the better, and the fewer encumbrances on them, well, so much to the good. Absolutely no clutter. A water flask and glass, a sturdy reliable lamp (nothing worse than a light bulb popping at 3 am when you’re just settling down for a little light reading of The Higher Common Sense by Abbé Fausse-Maigre to help you drift off), a radio for those emergencies when you need to know that we are at war or a hurricane has struck, and a healthy roll of bank notes for fobbing off night time muggers. That should be all. You will need the extra room for papers, books and trays of tea and nibbles. I loathe alarm clocks and