For Frank Grayton, twenty-seven-year-old journalist and hopeful author, the idea of coincidence was something that he might cover in a news story, but he would swear it never happened to him. He was no great believer in fate either, but sometimes circumstance can turn beliefs upside down.

The circumstance of him being at a horse race meeting was a rare one. It was not a sport that Frank normally favoured, but his friend Larry had acquired tickets to the Silver Ring at the local racecourse, with admission to the hospitality tent.

Frank and Larry, towards the end of a sunlit afternoon, wandered into the hospitality tent seeking refreshment. The tent was crowded with best-suited males and ladies in their summer finery.

Larry, an admitted womaniser, viewed the assembled feminine throng, with an eye he had earlier cast over the racing livestock. As they sipped at the champagne on offer, Larry occasionally nudged Frank and pointed out a particular favourite.

"God, I'll bet she can spread her legs on any surface," he'd observe, indicating a youngish woman in a dark blue silken dress that was cut above the knees, and only just above bulging breasts.

Frank would glance and questioned Larry's taste in female bloodstock. "Oh," his friend would suddenly burst out, "look at that one. I'll bet she goes the distance." The woman in question was, in the first place, older, and lumpier than Frank's usual tastes, and her thick lips drew another observation from Larry, "Imagine her taking your bit between her teeth."

Frank preferred to concentrate on the excellent food, and was onto his second champagne when his eyes were caught by a movement in yellow to his left. Turning his head, his breath caught in his throat, at the sight of the lovely face of the lady reaching across the table, to pick up a vol au vent. Her sleeveless yellow summer dress fell forward sufficiently to give a subtle view of a fascinating valley.

But it was her face that really got to him, framed as it was by shoulder-length hair the colour of newly ripened corn. She had wide blue eyes, a generous mouth, M shaped in repose, and a delicate nose. God, it was a composition that, combined, gave an impression of perfection.

As she stood back from the table, Frank could see that her dress clung to a well-proportioned figure. For a brief second their eyes met, and then she was turning back to join a small party she appeared to be with. She even looked good from the rear, with her tanned back bare above the waist, and a neat little bottom.

Frank had, on a few occasions, successfully used the right chat up line, which would lead to a one-night stand. But usually, it took a few sightings before attraction set in. Why should the effect of this lady be so different?

Since Emily, his one eighteen-month affair had moved on five months earlier, there had been only a single one-night stand, a weak one at that. His parting with Emily, although she had been the one to walk out, had been mutual. She said she was sick of being second to, "this stupid book you're trying to write", and fair enough, he had been spending late hours on it in the latter stages.

But for his part, from the outset, the main downer was her rather selfish love-making. All take and no give.

It might have been his limited sexual encounters lately, or just the sheer fact of her beauty, that gave Frank the strange sense of being a digital camera, that retained an image of this race lady. He had a couple of dreams in which she was vividly present, yet always remained distant.

Two weeks after that race meeting, Frank received the letter he had been impatiently expecting. Four months earlier he had submitted his first attempt at a novel to a small, but recommended publishing company. He had been advised to work through an agent but had felt it best to see how his book was received before he took that step.

To his delight, the letter informed him that the publishers had good feelings about the book, but there were one or two areas that might need revision. He was invited to discuss these points with a Mrs. Cruddas on the following Thursday at 2.00 pm.

That week became intolerably long. The prospect of having a book published was overwhelming him. He wondered what the areas of revision might be. Strange that in writing a thriller, he had ended up with his main character being female.

At last, the Thursday came around and at 1.50pm he was riding up in a smooth lift to the third floor of a substantial office block in the centre of the city. Stepping out of the lift he was confronted by an impressive glass frontage bearing the name of the publisher, and beyond which he could see a secretary typing busily, with several doors behind her.

Inside, he approached the desk and told the pleasantly smiling secretary that he had an appointment with a Mrs. Cruddas. The smiling secretary spoke briefly on the phone, and as she put it down, she directed Frank to the second door on the left. "Just knock and go in."

His excitement heightened as, entering the indicated office, he knew he was now heading into an unknown experience. The office was large and airy, with tall, ceiling to floor windows looking out on the city skyline.

But it was the lady standing, behind the desk, dressed in a beige business suit, with an open-necked white blouse collar, that stopped his breath and just about froze him to the spot. There was no doubting that face. Wasn't there a photographic imprint on his brain? The lady from the races.

She was moving around the desk, looking rather puzzled at what she might be seeing in his face. "Mister Grayton, is anything wrong?"

He knew that saying anything about where he had seen her before might be counterproductive. And since she showed no sign of recognition, he had to recover his composure. He

quickly replied, "No, the office, the view, it's quite stunning." Not half as stunning as you, though. She was holding out a hand as she smiled, and said, "I'm Karen Cruddas, deputy editor."

Frank took the delicate hand in his and muttered a 'pleased to meet you' while wondering whether he'd ever be able to let her hand go. But with that came the cruel realisation that she was married. Why should that disturb him? It wasn't as if he had any actual designs on her. Karen Cruddas retrieved her hand and moved behind her desk, pointing to the leather-bound seat beside him.

"Please, Mr. Grayton, sit there. There's just a couple of points we need to discuss first to avoid any embarrassment."

That brought a slight sinking feeling inside Frank. Why embarrassment? Had they chosen the wrong book? "What points?" he queried.

She gave a gentle smile of reassurance, "Oh, small points really Mr. Grayton.”

"I usually go by Frank, Mrs. Cruddas." He was keen to open this out.

"Right, Frank, call me Karen." She gave him a heart-stealing smile, before going on. "The main thing is that we do like your book, 'Sara's Way.' It is well plotted, with believable characters, and with a female lead at that. Your writing style is quite distinctive. We're pretty sure too, that the scattering of sex scenes will help sell it when they are correctly edited."

She put her fingertips together in front of her face as her blue eyes regarded Frank. "Because of the delicate nature of the points, we need to edit it should have been Mr. Sims who is indisposed. I was allocated the task of talking through the points, otherwise, you would have had male company right now."

A chance to put in a little charm, "I'll settle for you," he said firmly, treating her to his best smile.

"You won't feel intimidated in talking about those scenes?"

"I don't think so," he said, and added, "Will you be embarrassed?"

He was delighted by her returned smile, "It would take a great deal to embarrass me.” But did the smile drop from her face as she said that? Looking as though a cloud had broken over her, she reached for a folder near her left elbow.

She extracted a manuscript from the folder, Frank saw pink markers sticking out of it. "Right, let's see how far we get. Oh, by the way, you'll have the option of making alterations yourself or having one of our editors do it."

"I'd rather do it myself."

"Then, if you have a notebook with you, you'd better note these things down."

Frank quickly produced them. "Right," Karen said, opening the manuscript, "the first queries occur in chapter three, page thirty-eight in your script."

Frank nodded and noted it down.

Karen began to read, "This for instance, 'Her breasts burned with desire.' She raised her eyes to Frank, "Breasts don't burn, Frank, not during love-making anyway. They might tingle a bit, but it depends on the character of the lady receiving the attention. And this, 'She could not take her eyes off the massive bulge in his pants and longed to have her hands gripping what seemed like an enormous erection'"

Karen's head shook, "This was one little section that did bother me. Male authors love to endow their male characters with massive erections. But really, there are few women who long to get their hands on one, unless they themselves are well on the way to sexual excitation. All right, so far?"

Frank had been scribbling furiously, regretting that it meant taking his eyes away from her, yet enjoying her honest appraisal of his work. "You seem to have a lot of experience-" That was almost all he was going to say, but, seeing her eyebrows rise, he went on hurriedly, "—of dealing with this kind of writing."

She shrugged, "Oh, yes, and, believe me, women writers make many false interpretations of how men actually feel during the sex act." Her eyes regarding him were almost apologetic as she went on, "My next suggestion is an area which presents problems for many writers. In the military, it would be called, 'the naming of parts.' Sometimes it is justifiable, but your heroine is constantly referring to where her lover is touching."

She stopped and Frank was sure her face had reddened, before she continued, "I'm sure a lady's mind doesn't think in terms of 'he's on my pudenda' or 'my labia is being parted'. Surely pleasure would veil such terms. I would say that mention of the clitoris is sometimes justifiable, and I found it interesting that although you name these parts when it came to the vagina, you used a number of alternatives, 'my love passage', 'the entry' and worst of all, 'tunnel of love'. Ugh."

Her smile was kind as she looked up at him, "I hope this doesn't sound too picky. You see, you set yourself a difficult task in writing from the woman's point of view. And I'll admit that a male character describing the act would be more anatomically specific"

Frank just could not believe he was having this kind of conversation with such a gorgeous woman. He would have liked to know so much more about her.

"And your sex scenes aren’t all awkward. This for instance, ' the sensation of him gliding up inside her, made everything worthwhile.' Not overwritten, just catching the essence of that very special moment. But then her orgasm in chapter ten is dubious. Too many flashing lights, shooting stars, travelling out into space--although there might be a brief element of the latter. Never overwrite, a major piece of advice."

They talked for another thirty minutes, and it became easier and easier. Only when it came to a later chapter where oral sex was described did she become just a little uncomfortable. "For him, it's a natural move, in most cases, but your female character has never done it before, and she appears just a little too eager, a little too knowing with her lips and tongue. Given the character of your lady, she needs to be much less sure of herself, and what she is supposed to do."

When they parted, with Frank agreeing to make the recommended changes, her smile was gracious as she said, "I hope my comments haven't depressed you. Your book is so good, but is dragged down by the clunkiness of those sex scenes."

She offered her hand for a farewell handshake as Frank replied, "Not at all. I rather enjoyed it. I'm always ready to learn from an expert." And did she blush then? Probably not, but it was good to imagine that she had.

What would he call that meeting, after his being so conscious of her looks after the race meeting? Could it be classed as coincidence? Of course, that was all it could be. Well, at least that was a first. But it would have been more meaningful if it could have led somewhere.

After completing his day's work at the newspaper offices, he was home in his downstairs flat by six o'clock. That evening he sat working until near midnight correcting all the sex scenes, He even had a go at some she hadn't raised, always keeping in mind her advice to "never overwrite."

His work carried over into the following evening, and the day after that he was able to drop off the completed manuscript but was only able to hand it to the secretary. It was she who telephoned him two weeks later to come in for a final rundown before printing and publication.

Eager to see Karen Cruddas again, he almost dashed out of the lift only to find that Mrs. Cruddas was not in that day, and Mr. Carver would be seeing him. Jeremy Carver was polite, efficient, and full of praise for the book.

"I hope you didn't mind the changes we advised. You've handled those requests quite brilliantly"

Frank told him, "Thanks to Mrs. Cruddas. She was most helpful.”

"It’s usually six months before publication. There will certainly be a prepublication function."

So, there it was. His book was going to be published. Yet, he could not explain why he was not as ecstatic as he had expected to be. He knew that part of that was the fact that he had not seen Karen Cruddas again, and was not likely to. At the same time, he was telling himself that there could be little satisfaction in drooling over a married woman.

He buried himself in his work at the newspaper, and in the evenings on his second novel, which was developing quite well. So much so that he half hoped that he might have it ready for presentation before the publication of 'Sara's Way.'

He did receive an envelope on which he read the editor's name, and he opened it with some excitement, only to find it contained three suggested cover pictures and asked him to select one he approved of. He chose one which showed a dark-haired lady, who looked most like how he imagined his main character, peering around an open door.

But then, after nearly six months, during which time his thoughts of Karen Cruddas, had never quite faded, a small parcel arrived. Inside he found a first copy of his book, and he held it to his chest as though it was some kind of heart by-pass. The enclosed letter told him that the presentation night prepublication was to be the following Tuesday, only five days away. He was just a little disappointed to read that the presentation was not only for his book but for two other new publications that would be issued at the same time.

The major consolation was that he would get to see Karen Cruddas again. Surely, she would be at such a function. Okay, he could only look at her, but wasn't she well worth looking at?

Tuesday could not come fast enough, but at last Frank, in a smart grey suit, was entering the Assembly Hall, where the presentation was being held. Frank was handed a glass of champagne, and a pin-on label with his name on it. Fastening the label to his lapel, he scanned the surprisingly busy hall. He couldn't see who he was hoping to see.

Then a tall distinguished looking gentleman appeared in front of him, silver-haired and smiling, "Mr. Grayton? So glad to meet you." He identified himself as Martin Devison, the chief executive of the publishing house. He went on to apologise for this triple presentation, "Pure chance that all three books became ready at the same time. Pointless having three separate functions, wouldn't you agree?"

Frank nodded dutifully, and Devison went on, "I have read your book, and was very impressed.” Then Devison excused himself, "Oh, I'm signalled, I have to give the opening address." He started to walk away but turned back to say, "Sorry that you will be last in line. But Ms. Farrell will be making your presentation, and you can say a few words." He glanced at his watch, "I hope she gets here in time. Having trouble with her car apparently."

Frank watched as Devison, made his welcoming speech, before announcing that Mr. Jarvis would present the first author. This was a middle-aged lady who had written a cook book. She spoke only a few words, as Frank continued to scan the people around him. No Karen Cruddas. And who was this Ms. Farrell who’d be presenting him?

The second book was introduced recounting a journey taken along the length of the Amazon river. A deeply tanned, surprisingly short man, bounded up onto the stage to reveal how fit he was. He talked for rather too long and had to be reminded of the time.

Frank took the opportunity to get nearer the stage for when he was called. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say. Then Devison was there again to introduce the final book. "A change of genre," he said, before stating, "Presenting this author, a lady, who I'm pleased to say, in spite of difficulties has just made it, Ms. Karen Farrell.

Another Karen? Frank glanced towards the side curtain, and his heartt leapt as Karen Cruddas appeared, in a neat black dress, with thin straps that bared elegant shoulders. Karen Cruddas? Karen Farrell? Whatever her name, here was the Karen he'd been longing to see.

As she stood behind the dais, her eyes swept along those standing near the stage. When they came to Frank, she gave a broad smile and a nod before launching into her introduction. Frank was so taken with the fact that she had, at last, appeared, that he couldn't concentrate totally on her words, but he did realise that she was being very kind.

He caught phrases like, "superb plotting," and "masterful writing style." Finally, she came to the introduction, "It is with great pleasure that I introduce, an author of exciting potential, Mr. Frank Grayton."

Frank almost stumbled in hurrying to be beside her. She stepped forward to greet him, and her smile made his pulse beat even quicker. As she held out a hand, he took it in his and lifted it to his lips. Releasing her, he was stunned when she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, and the aroma of her might have been roses. Her action made him wonder whether his ability to speak would be impaired.

Surprisingly, with Karen Farrell standing to one side, Frank was able to state how pleased he was to have this opportunity, of seeing his first book in print. He gave a few words to where his idea had come from, but then, on impulse, he stated, "I must thank Karen Farrell for her editing help in the early stages. Her advice has encouraged me to getting straight into a second book." To a polite round of applause, and a final glance towards Karen Farrell, he left the stage.

Devison made a final speech and told the audience that all three books were currently on sale on one side of the hall. There was some movement in that direction, and Frank picked up a second champagne. He had just noticed that Karen Farrell was no longer on the stage, when a voice behind him said, "Surely, I wasn't that helpful, Mr. Grayton? You were too generous."

Frank whipped around, almost tipping his champagne glass, and he was looking into that beautiful face framed by the corn-coloured hair. Amazingly he found his voice immediately, "As were you about my beginner's humble efforts." God, her face was incredible.

Karen took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. "I was sorry I wasn't on hand when you brought in your revisions." She stopped to indicate two empty chairs by a table, and Frank had to disguise his eagerness to sit facing her.

"You made a good job of the changes."

"Thank you," Frank said, his mind churning over the thought, 'May I kiss you.' What he did say was, "Your change of name? If you don't mind me asking?"

Karen looked at him for a moment, "Cruddas was my married name. We're divorced. I kept the house, I didn't want the name. That's what I was seeing to when you brought in your changes."

Inwardly glowing at the mention of her divorce, Frank saw this as the time to make a positive move. "Is there someone else now?"

She looked at him coolly, "Is that important?"

Deep breath, Frank, this is crucial, "It is, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, why?"

"Just to show my appreciation, I would like to take you out to dinner—soon."

Her blue eyes widened, and that was enough to lift Frank's spirits. "You don't need to do that," she told him.

"You don't want to?"

"That's not what I said," she replied, and again her eyes held his.

"So you will?"

She sighed, "No strings?" She glanced across the room, "Oh, the Chief Exec. Is wanting my attention. Must go."

"Only one string."

"And what would that be," she asked, as she stood up.

Determined to keep his offer light he said, "Well, the last time we met, all you could talk about was sex. Could we be a little more discrete on this occasion."

Her laughter was a delight, as he stood up alongside her, "Where and when?" she asked.

"Know the Palladia?"

"I do, and it's very handy for me."

"Seven thirty? Tomorrow?"

"Till then, Mr. Grayton—Frank." Frank watched the delicate tick-tock of her hips as she walked away. He spent another pleasing hour signing books for a significant number of purchasers.

That night he could think only of Karen Farrell, and the way she'd looked in that black dress, so slender, so elegant. And he had made a date with her. Where could it go from there? He slept well.

Saturday arrived as an inclement summer's day. Rain poured from the heavens from early morning and well into the afternoon. Frank did a good shift on his book during the morning, but as the afternoon dragged with maddening slowness towards Karen time, he went to his stored rows of film DVDs, and, after much thought, selected 'Twelve Angry Men'. So many of his collection were pre-1970. His grandfather’s influence when he was younger.

As the rain lashed against the sitting room window, he watched Henry Fonda besting Lee J. Cobb, for the nth time. This time, Karen Farrell kept interfering with his concentration. As soon as the film finished, he showered, shaved and prepared himself for the evening.

By six o’clock, the rain had stopped, and the bright sun had steam rising from the pavements. Five minutes ahead of schedule, he took his seat at a corner table in the restaurant, and two minutes later, Karen appeared in a pale blue summer dress, with a white cardigan on her shoulders.

Frank rose to greet her, and their hands touched briefly. How he wished it could have been their lips. She placed her cardigan on the back of her chair, and Frank's eyes gloried in the sheer beauty of her, from her face, down over her small but neatly curved breasts, and the elegant undulations of hips to waist.

"Am I late? " she asked uncertainly.

"You're spot on time. Ready to eat?"

While they were studying the menu she couldn't wait to tell him that his book was already rising up the best-seller lists.

"That makes me doubly happy," he said, before realising that he was going to have to account for that statement.

"Doubly?"

Don't duck away from the truth, he told himself. "Well, the book, and having you here to deliver the news."

Did her face redden slightly? Maybe, but her response was non-committal. "It's part of my job, letting authors know how their book is doing."

"On an evening out?" he asked deliberately.

"Not exactly. That is a change from the norm."

While they ate the delicious beef bourguignon, their talk was limited to mention of the rain, which led them onto a mutual dislike of gardening. “I'm just thankful for the occasional rain," Karen said, and they laughed together, as Frank agreed.
They turned down having sweet, and while they sipped coffee, Karen asked him if the wet day had prompted Frank to crack on with his second book.

"From eight until two. Six hours is about the limit of my endurance. After that anything I do, I may have to rewrite the next day."

There was genuine interest on her face, as she leaned slightly forward. "Can you talk about the new book?"

Frank shook his head, "Other than telling you it's another thriller, I don't like talking the plot out of my head."

Karen smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. It's what I would advise any new writer. So how did you fill in your afternoon?"

"By looking forward to this evening," he told her honestly, but since it did not register any reaction from her, he added, "And I watched 'Twelve Angry Men', from my DVD collection."

Her brow creased while her eyes widened, as she asked, "You have a DVD collection?"

He felt a little cautious about admitting it, as he told her, "Mostly old stuff. A few, but not many are beyond 1970." He saw her mouth gape as though shocked, and her head shook, prompting him to ask, "What?"

"That’s amazing, Frank"

"Is it?”

"Yes, I have a collection of DVDs—films that I love—and all pre1965. What kind of coincidence is that?"

Coincidence indeed, and Frank was just a little stunned at her revelation, "I've been collecting them for years."

“I have an aunt who turned me onto that era.”

Frank told her about his grandfather, and their conversation became more animated as they told each other some of their favourite titles. He was delighted that they had found this shared link.

They went on to talk about their shared love of books, which was more obvious. Then Karen said she was expecting her mother to phone later in the evening, so she had to leave. It was barely ten.

Frank asked if they could do this again, and after an only momentary hesitation she asked, "Do you really want to?"

"I really want to." Hoping he hadn’t put too much fervour into his voice. They agreed on the following Saturday at the same place and time. Then he walked her out to her car, a neat little Mazda two-seater. Frank had been pondering whether attempting a kiss might be in order but decided not to risk it. When she held out her hand, he repeated the action he had taken on stage and placed it to his lips.

"Oh, a proper gentleman," she joked as she climbed into her car. "You can tell you're a fan of old movies."

Time dragged until the next Saturday came around, but once again they had a very good night, with much more to talk on the subject of old movies. "You listen to music over and over again, why not watch a movie you love, over and over again?" Karen stated.

Frank was delighted when Karen accepted a date for the following Wednesday night. A different venue, but convenient for both of them, and suddenly they were into a twice a week situation. On the second Wednesday of this new situation, as he stood with her by her car, he leaned forward just a little uncertainly, placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her.

For a wonderful few seconds, he felt her responding, with warm moist lips slightly parted and nicely meshing with his, but then she broke away, held his hand that had been on her cheek, and said, "Frank, I don't want to lead you on. Getting too involved after the big mistake I made once before, worries me. Do you mind?"

Of course, he minded, but being with her was, for him, a joy in itself. So, he accepted her reservation and was relieved at her reassurance that they would continue meeting. His hopes remained high. It was a warming surprise to discover that, in fact, they lived less than two miles apart.

With that in mind, he convinced her that collecting her from her home was a more sensible option than using two cars all the time. She finally agreed that it did make sense.

This led to those awkward moments when after a cosy night out, Frank applied his car handbrake outside her door. A chaste kiss goodnight was a major sign of progress for him, and always, he hoped for an invite inside and the developments that might come from that. On occasion, he was sure there had been an apologetic look on her face as she opened the car door. The disappointment of it not happening drove home with him.

Frank couldn't quite define when the ice finally began to crack. He had little doubt that closeness was growing, as their meetings became less restricted to Saturdays and Wednesdays. They laughed more together, strong in their shared book and film addictions. To Frank's joy, Karen had even, occasionally, taken hold of his hand

Then came that particular Sunday, when they had driven out into the country, and, taken an afternoon stroll along a riverside pathway. Frank, having just finished his first draft of the new book, and because of that, he felt able to tell her the general plot outline, as they walked.

Karen had held his hand as he talked, and that had encouraged him, as her face frequently looked up into his, and he read her approval there. Then it almost put him off his train of thought, as he realised she was actually clutching his arm, and leaning into him, closer than she'd ever been.

Frank concluded his account of the plot just short of the conclusion, and laughing, as they reached a quiet little riverside restaurant, he told her, "Now you'll need to wait to know how it ends."

Karen jumped in front of him, those blue eyes blazing, as she thumped jokingly at his chest, "Oh, you mean beast." For just a moment they stood toe to toe, close together, close enough to kiss, Frank thought, as Karen added, "Now, I could eat a horse."

Frank shook his head, "Well, we're in the countryside I’ll try to find you one.” Laughing together they went into the restaurant to be shown to a table overlooking the sluggish river. They ordered a traditional British Sunday lunch, lean slices of beef, with Yorkshire pudding, two veg and potatoes.

Over the meal, their eyes kept meeting, and Karen said, "Thank you, for sharing your book with me. It sounds really promising." Her face lit up, as she added, "And I can demand first read of the final draft."

Frank could sense some change in her attitude and wasn't daring to consider the positive aspects of that. But when she said, "On the way, I'd like to tell you something."

Meal over, they walked along the path, with Karen, again, clutching his arm, Frank wondered what she wanted to talk about, but the first thing she said, surprised him, as she clutched his arm tighter and sighed, "A very romantic walk, isn't it?"

"For me, it is," Frank told her, and sensed her face looking up at him, but dared not look back for fear of what he might see there.

"Frank, I've never talked to anyone about this before. Not even to my mother, well, especially my mother."

"About what?"

"My time with Guy Cruddas."
 

“You sure you want to?”

“I think I need to.”

So, they walked, and Karen talked in low tones of her married life with the drunken, womanising Guy Cruddas. How he would come home late at night and she could smell the odour of his sexual encounters. She’d already decided to end the marriage on the night he came home to find her in bed. Karen had locked herself in the en-suite, but he had kicked the panel off the door and forced himself upon her.

His assault was nasty, but she had enough bruises to justify calling the police. “I didn’t but earned him I would if he wasn’t out of the house within the hour.”

Frank had been horrified and angry at her story, but he asked, “Did he go?”

“Fortunately, he did. I’ve told no one about that incident.”

"Then I'm honoured to be your confidante," Frank said, as he started the car. Karen was silent for the whole journey, and he wondered whether she was regretting being so open with him. All he knew was that she had confided in him. A massive step.

Outside her house, she leaned across and kissed him very gently, before saying,”I'll say goodnight here, Frank, and thank you again for listening."

"Really, I hope it was some help for you."

Her face was very close, and the aroma of roses was in his nose as she said, "Would you allow me to cook you a meal on Wednesday night? And maybe watch one of my old films afterwards?"

"Sounds good," Frank replied. It sounded better than good. Karen was opening out to him. He was hoping, anyway. They shared another long kiss before parting.

Frank was certain that, having chosen him to hear of her ordeal with her ex-husband, Karen was opening a new door. Having longed to be with her ever since that first sighting, and with so many doubts along the way, now he couldn’t help thinking that some huge fulfilment was close. Yet even that prospect worried him. How sensitive was his approach going to have to be?

Wednesdays always come around, but this one took longer than most. However, at seven pm on that fine summer night, he was ringing her doorbell. When she opened the door, he only just managed to hide his surprise. Blue eyes, corn-coloured hair, wonderful face, but it was her dress that had him staring. The yellow, sleeveless, button up the front, summer dress, was the same one she had worn when he first saw her. She presented her cheek to be kissed, as he tried to catch his breath.

Karen had caught his reactions and asked if anything was wrong. Frank found it strange that in spite of all their chat he had never mentioned seeing her at the race meeting. Now he told her and just to prove it, he added, "And that is the dress you were wearing."

"Yes, it is. Well, what kind of coincidence is that?"

“They’re mounting up, these coincidences.”

Her house was a good few degrees upmarket from his flat, a large hall, with a wide central staircase, had various doors leading off. One long corridor led into a big conservatory and a garden beyond.

Karen told him that she had taken the afternoon off in order to prepare the meal. "Spicy lamb bake," she told him. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," he told her, as she led him into a dining room where a table was set for two. There were even two wine glasses set out. On none of their meals had they had wine because they were driving.

Everything was ready and soon he was tucking into her delicious preparation, after which he was able to tell her that spicy lamb bake was now one of his favourites. She came around the table to hug him for that comment, and as they sipped coffee she returned to what she had told him the previous Sunday.

"It put me off men in general for a month or two," she admitted, and her eyes firmly on his, she added, "And it was why when you tried that first kiss, I was scared to let it take its course." She looked as though she was about to say something else but changed her mind. "Should we clear up and then put the film on?"

"What's the film?"

"Wait," she ordered, and soon the table was cleared. The dishes were in the dishwasher, and Frank had followed Karen into a small lounge where a large screen hung on the wall. She had placed two glasses of white wine on a low table in front of a cosy sofa. She pointed for Frank so sit, and when he had she picked up a remote, sat down beside him and pressed a button. As the screen lit up, she snuggled up close to Frank, and he put an arm around her shoulder.

Then there came the credit title, and it was 'Casablanca'.

"Ah, a true romantic, aren't you, Karen?" Frank said, and didn't add, 'I hope.'

"How many times have you seen this?"

"Lost count," he admitted. "But may have forgotten some of the words."

"I hope not, I thought we could sing along with it"

So it was when Dooley Smith sat at his piano, with Ingrid Bergman sitting close by, Karen got in, "Play it, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By'." Just before Ingrid managed it.

Then just before Humphrey Bogart made a similar request, Frank jumped in ahead of him with, "You played it for her. You can play it for me."

Frank, with Karen smiling at him knowingly, picked up his wine glass, and slightly out of sequence and said, "Here's looking at you, kid."

Karen snuggled in even closer. Frank's hand strayed across her left breast, and Karen clamped her arm over his hand keeping it trapped there. When he looked into her eyes, he saw something cloudy there, as she muttered, "They're not burning, Frank, but they are tingling." And she laughed.

Overjoyed, at this turn of events, Frank was overtaken by another turn of events as earlier, Bergman had urged Bogart to, "Kiss me. Kiss me, as though it were for the last time." Karen lifted her face up towards Frank and spoke those very words. Without hesitation, Frank bent to place his mouth on hers, and it was like no kiss they had shared up to that point. Karen's tongue moved smoothly over his, and Frank was only too happy to respond.

As they devoured each other in that kiss, Karen's arm went around his neck, and consequently freed his hand that was half clutching at her breast. Free now, he had his hand stroking over the roundness of the breast rather than clutching at it. He knew for certain he was moving into God-given territory.

Chunks of the film were bye-passed as their kisses became more passionate. Frank became aware of Karen unbuttoning the higher buttons of her dress. Then, to his delighted amazement she took his hand caressing her breast and moved it inside onto the smoothness of her bra-less skin.

"Better?" she asked.

"Magical," Frank replied, thrilling at the cosy firmness of her. "And for you?"

"Tingling, I told you." she giggled.

Frank had slipped his hand down further to the edge of her rib-cage, and then back to finger the nipple. He heard her sigh. Their mouths clung together again, tongues wrestling, when Frank heard a familiar piece of dialogue and knew the film was in its final scene. It was Claude Raines saying for the last time, "Round up the usual suspects."

The next second, Karen was pushing him back onto the arm of the sofa and she was leaning over him, those wonderful blue eyes aglow, quoting, before either Frank or Bogart could get in that famous final line, "Frank, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Bogart got in his line, and the closing music signalled the end. For Frank watching that film had never been such a madly involving experience. Karen hadn't moved from her dominating position over him, as she kissed him gently, and uttered words that offered an entirely new and enticing conclusion, "Frank, would you take me to bed now?"

Shaken, yet exhilarated, fearing to believe what he had just heard, Frank struggled up, so that they were sitting up straight clinging together, and he was asking, "You're sure about this?"

Despite her bold offer, he could see there was some uncertainty behind her eyes, but she said, "Are you frightened of me?".

Frank had to speak what was on his mind, "Would this be the first time since your--"

"Since Guy? Yes, it would."

"And that was—how long ago?"

She obviously didn't need time to think about that, "Eighteen months," she said promptly.

Frank nodded, and told her, "Then, yes, I am frightened of you." Seeing the doubt in her face, he quickly added, "Not of you personally, my uncertainty stems from not knowing whether I'll possess the subtlety to give you what you need. Frightened of myself, if you like."

Karen placed her hand over his hand where it lay on her breast. "This feels so gentle, and when I read your rewrite, I thought how good your male character's treatment of the heroine was."

Frank hugged her close to his chest, as he said, "But wasn't it you who told me that male authors often endow their male characters with exceptional prowess. I'm not that good, Karen."

"But your character had gentility, Frank. That's all I ask, the respect you've shown me over these weeks, transferred to the way you want to handle me physically. And God knows, you haven't got far to go to lift me, to get me above what my experience has been so far."

Frank knew she was talking good sense so he said, "Okay, but instead of jumping into bed, let's just stay here, do what we were doing, and see what develops."

Her head was nodding an uncertain agreement before an impish grin creased her face, "We'll always have Paris."

"That's a man's line," he scolded. "The film's over, Karen. This is now real life. Our real life”

“I'll settle for that." she murmured, bringing her lips up to his.

The kiss was warm and luscious, and although her tongue pushed eagerly into his mouth, Frank was determined to keep his reactions subdued, even though his erect cock was a trapped animal in his pants. All he did was stroke his hand over her naked breasts, savouring the silky skin, and caressing her rising nipples. He sensed Karen wriggling her upper body to increase the gentle massaging of his hand.

After a long while, he deliberately broke the kiss, to trail his lips and tongue over those shoulders that had so attracted him. As his mouth moved down to nuzzle into her breasts, she sighed, "Oh, that feels lovely. They're too small, aren't they?"

Frank, while cupping one breast neatly in his hand, said "Ridiculous. See, they fit my hand perfectly. Anyway, big breasts inhibit me."

"Oh, dear, we can't have you inhibited, can we?" And, laughing she pushed his head back towards her breasts. "On with the good work."

After continued good work, as he licked and sucked at her nipples, he could sense, from her heavier breathing, that this was having a good effect on Karen. Slowly and carefully, Frank moved a hand down to unfasten the last three buttons on her dress. As the dress fell open, without moving his lips from her breast, he saw the flatness of her belly curving away to disappear under delicate panties.

From the position in which they were lying, Frank could only stroke Karen's belly as far as the waistband of her panties. But that was no real hardship as he stroked with the flat of his hand, in wide circles over that wonderful surface, while his mouth continued the adoration of her breasts.

Before long Karen's hands closed on either side of his head as she attempted to draw him up away from her breasts. When he saw the increased cloudiness in her eyes, and her tongue licking over her lips, Frank wasn't surprised at her next suggestion. "I think the bedroom is an essential now, don't you?"

"Will I have to climb all those stairs in my fragile condition?" he joked.

She laughed, "Actually, no. There is one guest bedroom just down the corridor. And you are only a guest, aren't you?"

She stood up and allowed her dress to fall to the floor, so she was all but naked. Her bare body held all the promise he had expected of it. The small breasts were completely in tune with her trim waist, and narrow hips. By the time they reached the bedroom door, he was surprised to see that somewhere along the way she had discarded her panties, and to his utter delight, her bush was the exact colour of her golden hair, just two tones less than blonde.

With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to him, waved a hand up and down in front of him, as she said, "One of us is slightly overdressed for what is to follow."

Frank's shirt was already well unbuttoned, but now, after pushing the door open, Karen turned back to him, with a scolding look on her face as she worked at his belt buckle. In no time she had his pants pushed down leaving only his misshapen boxers.

She laughed heartily, pointed and cried, "There's something trapped in there. I want nothing to do with it." And giggling she ran towards the wide bed, with its blue cover.

Frank pushed down his boxers and hurried to where Karen was lounging back on the bed. As he approached, her eyes rested on his bouncing erection, and she gave an appreciative nod and reached out a hand to grasp it, as Frank climbed on the bed beside her.

Frank threw up his hands in mock horror, wanting to keep this first coming together as light as possible. "There was this book editor who advised me that, what was it again? '—few women long to get their hands on a male erection-' Wasn't that it?"

Karen was grinning as she brought her face close to his, without removing her hand, "But I also said 'unless they themselves are well on the way to sexual excitation.'" Her face suddenly became much more serious, as she sighed, "And that's exactly where I am right now, Frank."

Karen lay back, and her hand could only slide along to the tip of his cock, as Frank, still pushing for lightness said, "One more request. No naming of parts."

Her knee dug without force into his thigh, and then they were solidly wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing with a wild abandon. Frank realised that it was a shade beyond the gentility he had envisaged, but, up to a point, Karen had dictated that herself and everything seemed in order with her.

Frank recalled he had been stroking the elegant tight belly, and he returned his hand there for just two circling motions before trailing his fingers into her corn coloured bush.

Karen broke the kiss to mumble breathlessly, "Frank, I think I'm ready."

Frank wanted to reply, 'No you’re not.' But what he whispered was, "I'm just going to make sure." And his fingers traced her bush between her thighs and slid them into her crevice. He felt her body tense before her thighs began trembling. She was indeed moist, but was she moist enough?

He was still bothered by what she’d said about being easily lifted above what she had experienced so far. Frank wondered whether he would be able to provide that vital lift. There had been so little meaningful sexual activity in his life lately, and this was the woman he had been idolising for weeks now. He feared that something like premature ejaculation might take him before she got her lift. Only really having her turned on might guarantee success.

His fingers moved deep into the moistness of her nether region. Around her entry seemed ready enough. Determinedly, yet caringly, he moved his fingers back and felt for her clit. He sensed her shuffling and heard her heavy breathing, that was almost gasps.

Her breathless voice hissed, "Please, Frank. Oh, yes, please."

Her fingers found his cock and tugged. Not in a deliberately stimulating way, but more to direct it between her thighs. Frank knew he could not take too much of that. He set his fingers working over and around the blossoming clit, and felt her hips begin to lift.

Clearly, neither of them could go on any longer, and Frank allowed himself to be guided between her legs, as Karen, almost yelping her desire, waggled his shaft at her opening. Frank took the urging and with just one push he was inside her and relishing that fantastic first glide up inside her.

My God, he was actually inside this gorgeous woman whose image had lived in his mind since that race meeting. The sheer magic of that moment demanded that he held onto a measure of control, as he felt her internal muscles, pulling at him like fingers. He drew back to give further thrusts, and Karen worked her hips in an attempt to match him.

But then her hip movement became frantic, her breathing became a kind of sobbing, and he .knew she was going. Frank rejoiced in the moment, rejoiced in the fact that his intentions had succeeded.

He had to look up to see her contorted face, her gaping mouth from which issued unintelligible words, her tossing head, spreading her fine hair over her face. Just as he had hoped for her, this furious climax she was experiencing, added to the wild heaving of her hips , so excited Frank, that in a very short time, he had plunged high into her as his hardness poured forth pulse after pulse of his seed that had been stored for so long.

As his limp cock drooped out of her, her fingers reached to touch it, as she sighed, "Oh, thank you, thank you." Then she was silent for a moment, before saying, "That has cleared my ache."

They lay in silence for a few more minutes. Frank was luxuriating in an afterglow of relief. Relief that he had helped her, and that his efforts had not let him down. It was wonderful for him to have her skin pressed, almost glued with perspiration, against his.

After a while, she said, "I need to take a shower." She slipped from the bed, and he delighted in watching her trim nude body saunter easily across the floor. As though to emphasise his observation, she turned at the en-suite door and murmured, "I'm still floating two feet off the ground."

"And I'm enjoying watching you," he told her.

He heard the shower turn on, and above the sound of splashing water, he heard her singing. The water drowned out any identification of the song, but there could be little doubt in Frank's mind what it would be.

When she came out, still naked, smelling so fragrant, Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he reached out for her. She swerved out of reach and putting on a false plummy upper-class voice she said, "I'm not having my spotless body sullied by such a grubby lout."

As Frank dutifully reached the en-suite door she added, "Honestly Frank, you took me to a place where I have never been before." Her nod and her smile stayed with him while he exulted in the best shower he'd ever had.

Dried and refreshed, he came into the bedroom, to find Karen lying flat on her back, legs parted, arms flung out wide like she was some Aztec sacrifice. He stood by the side of the bed, just absorbing the sheer wonder he found in her.

"Playing hard to get, are we?" he said.

She didn't reply, but just lay there, eyes closed, waiting for him. Frank was happy to tease just a little, "Well, I'd best get home now. I have a book to finish."

She jerked upright for just a moment, her eyes showing her shock, but then her shock became a provocative smile, as she pointed at Frank's already semi-erect cock. "That tells me that you are going nowhere." Karen settled back down as Frank climbed onto the bed alongside her.

They kissed warmly for a good while, and then Frank's mouth began its intended journey. He kissed her eyes, her hair, nibbled her ears, ran his mouth up and down the taut tendons at the side of her neck. He licked along her shoulders, while one hand travelled down over her breasts, only lingering there briefly, before beginning a slow stroke up and down her inner thigh. Each upward stroke stopped just as he sensed the tickle of her bush.

Karen's hands had stroked through his hair, over his shoulders, and down his back. Tentatively, her hands reached towards his erection, which was at full stretch now. As soon as her cool fingers closed around it, Frank could not help but allow her to have her way, as he continued working his lips and tongue down over her breasts. Oh, yes, he lingered there, tonguing and sucking just as he had done earlier.

Her rising excitement had her hand working keenly on his cock, moving more positively from tip to base, as Frank's mouth moved down to her belly, and his tongue dipped into her little belly button.

His hand had been stroking her inner thigh, he now allowed to wander onto and then into her crevice, which was already moist, and her gasp and more frantic pull on his hardness prompted Frank's next moves. His fingers groped along her groove, enjoying the wetness, as he stopped and tickled at her clit. He knew, if he left his cock within her grasp for much longer he might succumb.

Ahead of his intended timing, he shifted his body, to place his head between her thighs. This was an action which took his erection away from Karen's grasp and she gave a moan of complaint, as her fingers stroked through his hair.

But as soon as Frank's tongue moved around her clitoris, her moans took on a different, more ecstatic tone. Loving the creamy, musky taste of her, he passed his mouth right to the rear where his tongue briefly dipped into her hole, before returning to her clit.

He listened carefully for her breathing rate. He was determined that the conclusion did not come before he had entered her. Feeling that he was being a more sensitive lover than he had ever been in his life, he kissed and licked her soothingly.

He heard a despairing croak from her, "I want to do it to you." Frank, for a moment, thought of a possible comment he might make along the lines of 'well on the way to sexual excitation'. But realised they were well past that point, and, sensing that, if this was going to work out the way he wanted it, entry was now due, before they were both too near the edge.

He moved his body up, to place his cock between her wet nether lips, and then he moved his body up over hers. Thoughtfully he wiped his mouth along the duvet, having one loving gaze into those surprised blue eyes, before planting a kiss on her eager mouth. At the same moment, a slight nudge with his hips, and his erection, like some faithful dog, slid just one inch into her opening. The sound that escaped through her imprisoned lips might have been his name, but it was a sound of deep pleasure. And that's all he needed to hear.

Together they were moving into the territory that Frank had intended in leading up to a grand finale. Slowly and gently he slid his cock up and up into her until it struck the obstruction that could have been her cervix. No naming of parts, he reminded himself, being in such a relaxed state of mind now, and feeling totally in control.

Her internal muscles felt to urge him on that upward journey. Then just as slowly, he drew back, wanting to lavish her with all the feeling he could muster. On his next upward stroke, Karen's hips rose, and her muscles continued their eager pull at him.

That caring, casual sequence continued to the delight of both of them. The sensations of being inside her, of their skins sliding together, was exquisite. Just once he drew his cock head right back to her very opening, and he felt her mouth under his, flutter in protest before he plunged it back in one stroke right to his hilt.

But nature demanded that it just could not maintain that easy pace. Karen's hip movements became more frantic, the muscular pull on him more desperate, and Frank without thinking about it, found himself pounding into her, ever deeper it seemed.

Very soon their lips had to part as Karen's head began to toss, and her voice was definitely almost sobbing, "Frank. Frank. Frank."

Frank felt the familiar pounding as his scrotum began to release, and just as he was preparing for it, by pulling back just a little, Karen's repetition of his name became a wild screech, as her orgasm hit home. Her hips, her belly, all of her, became his, and at that moment, maybe five seconds behind her release, he was pouring forth hid renewed load. Pulse after pulse and he heard his voice returning the compliment, of her name, "Karen. Karen."

Moments of total breathlessness followed as they lay side by side. Frank was just delighted that he had been able to engage her in exactly the way he had wanted. Alongside him, Karen was murmuring, "Oh, Frank, I have no words for what we've just--"She didn't complete what she was about to say. Instead, she sat up, and leaned over him, those gorgeous blue eyes caressing his face, as she said, "Frank, what would you say if I said I loved you."

Frank gave her a tender smile, raised a hand to brush her wild hair from her face, and told her, "I would say, how much of a coincidence is that?"