Free Butter Wouldn't Melt by Penny Birch Page B

think, with you down here alone in the basement with me?’
    â€˜I’m sure they wouldn’t think anything,’ I answered, outraged that he dare imply that there was a possibility anyone might even think we would have done anything together.
    He was still waiting for me to go past him. I made a vague gesture, intended to suggest he should go first, but he held his ground. He was smirking, quite obviously enjoying my predicament, as we both knew that if I passed him he would take the opportunity to pat my bottom. Standing there waiting, he looked like some kind of malignant little troll, and I was surethat even if I told him exactly what I thought of him he would only laugh, and enjoy my discomfort all the more. The longer I waited the worse it would be, and I finally gave in.
    â€˜Excuse me, then,’ I said, and made to move past.
    Immediately he moved to the side, pretending to be considerate so that he could get a better angle to my bottom, and sure enough, as I passed his hand found the seat of my skirt, only not with a pat, but with a definite little rub.
    â€˜Hey!’ I protested, unable to hold back. ‘Do you mind?’
    He just chuckled, and I moved quickly on, burning with humiliation and resentment. I was still sure that any complaint would be futile, and that given what old Mr Montague knew about me he wouldn’t even realise why I was making a fuss. Men never seem to understand that it’s not what a girl will do that matters, but who she’ll do it with. Now I was glaring, but he merely returned a nasty little smirk, and when he spoke it was far from an apology.
    â€˜Not at all, my dear, and nor should you, at your age.’
    I couldn’t help but answer him; what he’d said was just too outrageous.
    â€˜I suppose you think it’s acceptable to go around patting girls’ bottoms, do you? Well it isn’t!’
    He gave a peevish little grunt, then spoke again.
    â€˜Certain young ladies would do better to permit their elders and betters the occasional little courtesy, you know. It doesn’t pay to be prissy.’
    My mouth came open to answer him, but I just couldn’t think of anything to say. His attitude was a complete reversal of everything that made sense, as if I should somehow be grateful for him pawing me and leching over my body. I could have slapped therevolting little gnome, but again I held back, telling myself it would only make matters worse.
    Instead I simply walked away. Mr Prufrock was coming behind me, quite fast, so that I was forced to scamper the last few feet to the door. I made it, quickly said goodbye, and fled, his bulging eyes following the movement of my bottom under my skirt all the way to the top of the stairs, so that as I glanced back he was still staring up at me, grinning, and apparently completely unashamed of his unspeakable behaviour.
    I was boiling with fury, and only very slowly came down as I made myself a coffee with trembling fingers. When Maggie came into the room I couldn’t hold it, immediately blurting out my feelings.
    â€˜I’ve just met that horrible little . . . little creature in the basement! He kept staring at my legs and trying to touch my bum. He succeeded too.’
    She responded with a sympathetic smile, then spoke.
    â€˜Oh you mustn’t mind Mr Prufrock, he’s just a bit old-fashioned.’
    â€˜Old-fashioned? He molested me!’
    â€˜Oh come, come, Pippa, do try not to be prissy. Just yesterday you were telling me you like to fantasise about being punished in front of an audience of older men.’
    â€˜Yes, but that’s hardly the same thing as letting some old git touch up my bum!’
    â€˜But you like the fantasy, don’t you?’ she responded.
    I made a face, unable to deny it when I’d already admitted to enjoying my own humiliation. What Mr Prufrock had done still felt wrong. In fact it was wrong. Maggie had come close, and kissed