Any hopes of an Indian summer had been dashed. October bumped into November, handing the autumn over clumsily, with sultry weather one day and drizzle the next. I hoped the weather wasn’t a metaphor for my life, which had suddenly been shaken by a girl and her painting.

Elizabeth had crashed into my life like a whirlwind. One minute everything was predictable or as predictable as it could be, the next minute I was having amazing sex and planning a life-changing trip to Europe. I was making plans, not knowing where it might lead with people I had never met, all over a fourteen inch piece of canvas and a load of old paint. Yet in that painting I saw something - something ineffable, yet tangible.

Suddenly I had a lot to do. I had all manner of arrangements to make, not to mention an appointment with the bank. By my reckoning, I was ten thousand pounds short of where I needed to be, to put my plans into action. I wasn’t worried about securing the loan, but paying it back would be tricky. I had any number of questions and concerns that hung over the project - any one of these going wrong I knew might be fatal. One obvious question was, ‘What if the painting went for a lot over the estimate?’ It occurred to me that any dealer with a bit of 'savvy', might see something in the painting, even without an attribution. That could put the painting out of reach. If I was suddenly faced with finding twenty thousand, I wasn’t so sure about raising that kind of money.

I tried not to think about this, but contacted my cousin Paul, explaining the situation. He was happy to be my surrogate bidder. Fortunately we were close from childhood, so I had no problem securing his help and for nothing more than a bottle of his favourite drink at Christmas. The next task was to contact the various agencies and laboratories in Italy. I wanted to get my foot in the door and book a slot. Once I started bandying about the name Michelangelo, I began to generate interest and I was pleasantly surprised by the response. Where was the painting from? Why do you think it is a Michelangelo? Can you send a photo? I was wary of sending a photograph, as this would possibly leak back to Craig, via the trade. I would wait for the sale, which was just four days away. After that, I would be free to do as I wished.

I went to work that morning and placed a white envelope on Craig’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“I’m giving notice.”

Craig was genuinely surprised.

“Really? I thought you were happy here!”

“No, I am. I just need a change of direction.”

“If it’s about your salary, I could have a look. We might be able to do something.”

“I’m grateful for that. But it’s not the salary. Sorry, I’ve made up my mind.”

My boss stared into his coffee and shook his head.

“Well I’ll be sorry to lose you. Can I ask who poached you?”

“No! it’s nothing like that,” I said, shocked that he would even think that.

“No?”

“I’m going to see the world. I always wanted to travel.”

“Oh.”

“If someone had approached me, I would have seen you first. I can assure you.”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear that. But I’ll still miss you. You’ll be hard to replace.”

I truly enjoyed working where I worked and it pained me to leave, but I saw no alternative.

After work, I went to tie up one of the loose ends that was connected with the painting and then phoned Elizabeth with the outcome.

“Hiya!”

“Hey, I’ve got some news.”

“Oh… tell me, tell me!”

“It’s not that exciting. I’m not sure. It’s the letter.”

“The letter? Oh the letter!”

“Yes, I went to see my friend George, who owns the Italian restaurant I frequent.”

“Oh, well it is in Italian.”

“Well I did think of Google but I didn’t want to take anything for granted and I couldn’t make out every word.”

“No, good thinking, Cindy. So what’s it say?”

“Okay, are you ready… ‘Dear Mr Lawrence, I am indebted to you for your assistance and I hope this will suffice as a token of my gratitude. It was in the sale at Via Azzo Gardino on May 1. Knowing your love of this style.’ It’s signed Vincenzo and dated July 1934.”

“Oh, that’s interesting. But what does it mean?”

“Yes, I’m not sure, but I think it will be important, cos it’s part of the history of the painting.”

“I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Cindy.”

“Thank you. Talking of capable hands…”

“Hmmm…”

“Do you want to come round tomorrow?”

“Really! I’d love to.”

“I’ll make us something. Is lasagne okay?”

“Is it ever!”

“It’s my special recipe.”

“I’ll bring a bottle.”

“Okay then. It’s a date.”

I hung up with a tingle of anticipation and excitement, just from the thought of seeing Elizabeth again. We had not been texting to and fro and in some respects that was good. I didn’t know where I was from one minute to the next, conscious of my responsibilities and all the uncertainty that lay ahead. Elizabeth was proving to be a wonderful distraction and an outlet for my desires. I wasn’t shy when it came to guys but being quite independent and assertive I think I scared them off. I demanded exceptionally high standards in my partners. Men rarely met the criteria. I avoided bitchy or frivolous women. I was acutely aware of how demanding my own sex could be and I wasn’t prepared for any sort of commitment.

Elizabeth ticked every box. In fact she had created some new boxes for me to tick. She was so sexy with her long, shiny dark hair; her figure, which was slim and voluptuous at the same time. Like me, she hadn’t indicated that she expected anything substantial from our relationship. I think she appreciated the intensity of our physical involvement as much as me - it was as if it was a momentary diversion away from the reality of life. I was concerned that we would get deep, only for me to disappear to Italy for goodness knows how long. I wanted to be there to be on hand for every development. If the time table I had crudely scratched out, came to fruition, we would be well on the way by Christmas. On the other hand, I was told by my contact in Rome to be patient. When art met science things went at their own pace. I hadn’t been to Rome, nor anywhere in Italy for that matter, so I would have plenty to keep me occupied.

There were three days to go before the sale. At work, Craig revealed some information that might prove to be crucial.

“Cindy, just to let you know, I’ve changed the listing on the painting.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m listing it as ‘putative sixteenth century of Madonna and baby.’”

“Oh right.”

“It’s just that I think, putting it in definitively as an Old Master, is too bold.”

“Hmmm…”

“I know you really rate the painting, but we have to be realistic.”

“It’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I had a guy from London look at it.”

“Ah. What did he say?”

“While he agrees that it looks like the real deal, it is almost certainly an eighteenth century copy. I think we’ve done the right thing.”

This intelligence was received with a mixture of enthusiasm and dismay. Enthusiasm because Craig’s downgrading inevitably would knock down the estimate. Dismay because I knew there was a good chance he was right. I began to doubt my original impressions, but deep down I couldn’t reconcile all the professional appraisals with my raw, academic gut reaction.

I decided not to reveal this latest development with Elizabeth but just let it go with the flow. In some respects the value was now almost immaterial. I just wanted to get it sold, get Elizabeth her money and go to Italy with the painting.

I continued the day to day functions of my job with my usual diligence, but the painting was beginning to absorb me. I went into the art room at lunch and looked at it again. If it was a copy, it was an amazingly good one. It simply had that renaissance feel to it, at least to my naïve young eyes. Had I become so rolled up in the romance of finding a rare painting, that I had somehow fooled myself? Or was it really a Michelangelo, incredible though that would be. Only time would tell. For now, I had to try and keep at least some perspective before I got completely embroiled in a self-made drama.

The autumn had come with a vengeance. Going for my midday sandwich was no fun. I drew up my hood and battled against the drizzle, which seemed to envelop me, along with the chilly breeze. The wind had all but knocked off the golds and browns of the leaves, leaving a few dangling memories of what once was. In my present state of mind, it was totally dispiriting.

I drove home on auto-pilot, my body tense and in need of the relaxation of a hot shower. I had just opened the bath and shower set that my Mum had bought me for Christmas. I had only got as far as unwrapping the little tablet of soap. The scent of lavender - it evoked warm summer evenings, of buzzing bees and girls’ voices, and drinking wine at dusk. There’s something so rewarding, so beautiful in the stroke of a virgin bar of soap, as all its fine, sweet aromas are released; anointing the skin. The hot water sprinkled over my body, soaking my hair, running in my ears and over my breasts. The burden of the day ran away with the water, as I unwound in the steamy confines of the shower.

I emerged, fluffy and fragrant. I put on my best scarlet underwear, complete with black stockings and suspenders. I was ready to entertain my sexy guest. They say blondes have more fun. I was determined to make sure that my delectable, brunette friend was going to get her share.

Elizabeth arrived as the night was falling on the streets, and a blanket of fog was hanging over the rooftops.

The cold air had adhered to her coat, but was instantly replaced by the heat of her body as I slipped it off her shoulders. I wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her, as her coat slipped to her feet. She had put on a black basque with equally alluring lace panties with a red trim. Our bodies squashed together in a mutual exchange of warmth and passion. Our lips met and our tongues united in sheer wantonness.

“You’re like my lasagne,” I whispered.

“How so?”

“Soft layers of pure goodness, with tasty naughtiness in between.”

Elizabeth giggled.

“You’re funny.”

“I was ages making that up,” I said, smirking, “Upstairs?” I added.

“Hmmm… lead the way,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

Elizabeth sighed as she followed me up to my bedroom. She said I had the best bum she had ever seen. My lingerie was specially picked for the purpose.

I flicked on the light and led Elizabeth to my bed. Running my hands through her hair, I could feel the residual dampness from her shower at the roots. I kissed the top of her head, the scent of her scalp and shampoo infusing to form a sexy combination, which heightened my lustful feelings.

Elizabeth looked up at me and I traced a finger over her chest, down between her cleavage. Her breasts were warm, almost pinching my finger, owing to the closeness of her basque. Her boobage was spilling over the stiff ridge of her top. I leaned towards her and we kissed slowly as I gently unlaced the garment with my free hand. I leaned over her, undoing the basque with both hands, my own cleavage squished around her nose, so that her warm breath teased my décolletage .

“I have a special treat for you,” I said as I pulled her top down, revealing her beautifully ripe breasts. Her nipples were plump and the areolae goose-bumped. I made her stand up, so that I could finish the unrobing of her beautiful body. I could feel her heart beating against my palm, before I scooped her boobs in my hands and sucked her nipples one at a time.

“Is this the treat?” she asked.

“This is just the entrée,” I answered, as I dropped to my knees and grabbed the top of her panties between my teeth.

“I’m a lucky girl,” she said.

“Elizabeth, darling, I’m going to take you to the moon and back.”

“Ooh Cindy!”

I inched down her panties, revealing the neatly trimmed mat of black pubic hair that fringed her delicious, swollen labia. I knew what she expected and desired, but I was going to make her wait.

“I want you to lie on the bed and rest against the headboard.”

“Okay. Like this?”

“Yes, exactly like that.”

“Now, relax and enjoy.”

Elizabeth looked at me with mystery and anticipation written in her face. I stood at the end of the bed, watching her as she watched me, as I did a little striptease. I removed my red underwear seductively; playing peek-a-boo with my bra, eventually discarding it on the bed, as I turned, rewarding Elizabeth with an interrupted view of my bum. I don’t think a fire would have diverted Elizabeth at that moment. She had openly confessed an obsessive desire for my bottom. I began to roll down my panties, pushing my bum out, until I was sure she had a teasing glimpse of my pussy.

Elizabeth’s hand was sliding over her tummy and making a direct route to her pussy. I was very turned on, seeing her about to seek some self-satisfaction over my body. It would have been easy to jump on the bed and satisfy our needs in any number of ways, but I had prepared a yummy treat.

I shuffled onto the bed and picked up a little wooden box from my bedside table and slid the lid open. Elizabeth looked on with child-like curiosity and watched as I took out one of the sweet morsels, which I had secreted therein.

“Look what I’ve got!” I said, taking out a chocolate cherry.

“Cindy! You think of everything!”

“Well, I try.”

I placed the cherry between my lips and slithered down the bed, as a little chocolate began to melt into my mouth. I pressed the juicy berry into her breast rolling the delicately enrobed confection around one nipple and then the other. Her nipples began to stiffen in response to the smooth cocoa infused coating. Melting around her areolae, I bit into the cherry, releasing a combination of juice and kirsch over her breast. I sucked on her breasts, my mouth a gooey puddle of sexy goodness. Elizabeth sighed with pleasure as I licked her boobs, rolling my tongue around and round, making her nipples hard.

I picked up another cherry and offered it to her mouth. I ran the sweetmeat along her lips, tantalizingly drawing it out of reach as she went to take a bite. At last I relented as some of the chocolate coating began to impart its secrets on her mouth. She looked at me and I watched her bite into the little treat. We kissed, sharing the delicious taste of cherry liqueur, as my hand roamed over her body. The chocolate had left an unctuous, dark satin coating around my lips, and we smooched as the serotonin coursed through our veins, heightening our sense of desire.

I sat up and placed my hands flat on the wall, brushing my breasts across her face, teasing her lips with my nipples, cuddling her face between my boobs. She lay there and soaked up the pleasure as her fingers dabbled against my pussy lips, making me hot and sexy and full of uncontrollable urges. I slumped down, our bare bodies stroking, fingers exploring, fondling and caressing.

We were in the sexy zone, seducing each other with kisses, our bodies squashed together on the bed, side by side, our legs interlocked. My lips brushed her ears, nibbling and kissing until her voice quivered with insistent, plaintive tones. I stretched out my legs and unravelled myself, prostrating my body and then bringing myself forwards, until I was half crouched between her legs. I placed my hands on her knees and looked up into her eyes, as my lips planted kisses inside the feather-soft skin of her thighs. My hand strayed between my legs, feeling the wetness that was developing as my lips left butterfly kisses along the length of her legs. Her pussy was almost within kissing distance, ruby red petals barely hiding the moisture that was waiting for my tongue.

I stretched out my arms, walking my fingers ‘like a teddy bear’ along her tummy as my nose probed her labia, ploughing a little furrow for my tongue to follow. Elizabeth’s breathing quickened – I heard her gasp in time with my delving tongue, as I lapped along the length of her moist vulva. Her hands met mine and we interlocked our fingers, at the same time as she folded her legs around me. I paused to look at her, my lips glazed with her juices and she licked her lips.

I edged around counter clockwise, lapping and kissing between her legs and around her sexy pubic mound. Her hand grasped at my leg as I was turning, pulling my bottom half towards her, until I had completely straddled her chest. I could feel her shuffling beneath me, as I attacked her pussy from the opposite direction. Suddenly I was indulging on Elizabeth’s sweet pudenda and having my own pussy licked at the same time. I was aching and horny, wet and excited in a way I hadn’t felt for ages. It was as if Elizabeth had pushed every button I had. I was prepared to give myself to the moment, to give her the best oral sex I knew how. I knew my drizzling dew box would be amply rewarded by her loving tongue.

Elizabeth gave me orgasm after orgasm, making me tremble right down my toes. We kissed and cuddled, rolling on the bed in passionate love snuggle. The sleepiness induced by our love-making had led us both into a dreamy snooze, where the sheep were counting clouds and the cows were made of Turkish delight.

Eventually, it was the aroma of my lasagne, which lured us away from the bedroom. I had cooked it slowly and it came out of the oven with the cheese bubbling over the dish.

“It’s my special recipe,” I hope you like it,” I said, as I served up the meal.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone… with the painting.”

“Why do you say that? The lasagne is really good.”

“Thanks. I’m just saying. I don’t want you to think I’m neglecting you.”

“I’d never think that, Cindy.”

I took a long drink of my wine, as I collected my thoughts.

“I thought I could do this, now I’m not sure.”

“You thought you could do what?” asked Elizabeth.

“The sex without the feelings. All the lovey stuff.”

“The connection and affection?”

“Yes, I mean you start out thinking you can put something in a little box, with a label and everything. But…”

“Are you going all mushy on me, Cindy?”

“Maybe. Well philosophical maybe.”

“I’m happy. Are you happy?”

“Of course I am!”

“Don’t worry then, sexy pants. Everything is just fine.”

“I just want to do the right thing,” I said, sounding slightly insecure.

“Nawww… Cindy.”

Elizabeth footsied me under the table and stroked my calf with her toe. Then she held up her glass by the stem.

“Let’s make a toast,” she said.

“Okay, what are we toasting?”

“Ummm… to whatever,” she said, with a giggle.

“Okay. To whatever!”

Life was good and we were young. The world was our oyster and each day a new little pearl to treasure.

 

Three days later…

I had moved ten thousand pounds from my main savings account into my current account. I was ready to pay Paul whatever the painting made and from there the auction would pay Elizabeth minus their fifteen percent commission.

The auction was only slightly busier than normal and two telephones had been set up, plus the internet. The reserve was three thousand and it started at a commission bid of fifteen hundred. Craig described it as ‘in the manner of high renaissance by unknown artist.’ The bids went up in one hundred at a time and then went past the reserve and quickly advanced to five and a half. Suddenly the internet kicked in and before I knew it, it had made six thousand. Paul stood in the doorway nodding nonchalantly, his eyes half obscured by his checked cap.

Whoever was on the internet was keen and pushed it to seven thousand nine hundred, but then the bids dried up, with Paul motioning his bid of eight thousand and that was it.

I phoned Elizabeth as soon as she was on her lunch.

“Eight thousand! That’s more than you thought, isn’t it,” she said, brightly.

“It is. I think it made the top end of what Craig figured it would get. You’ll get a cheque for six thousand eight hundred in a day or three.”

“Oh Cindy! That will so buy me some time!”

“It’ll eat into your credit cards. You gotta pay them off first.”

“I will, of course. But you must let me buy you a meal before you go to Italy.”

“That would be lovely, but you don’t need to, hun.”

“I want to, Cindy. I’ve got to have some fun!”

“Well, if it’s fun you want…”

“Ha yes! Anyway, have to go, the boss is looking at his watch.”

“Okay then. Speak soon.”

Celebrations aside, I now had a job to do. Happily, I had secured my bank loan, which was mainly down to never having a loan and paying off credit cards when they hit the mat. I knew my parsimonious life-style would pay dividends one day. Of course, if the painting didn’t come through, I was toast.

I had made every possible precaution when meeting my cousin, deliberately making the hand over at a solitary location. He said I was being paranoid. I know it sounds stupid, but I thought that somehow he would get followed. He didn’t of course and it went under my bed, wrapped in special protective paper. I contacted the insurance company, who whacked up my monthly repayments. They have you with your pants round your ankles. Obviously, I didn’t say, “Yeah, it’s probably by Michelangelo.” But as soon as you start talking Renaissance oil painting, they get the jitters. Basically it doubled my premium, but it couldn’t be helped.

I had no idea how long the whole authentication process would take. It might fall at the first hurdle, in which case it would be game over in a week. In that case, at least I would be able to minimize my losses, before I really started to splash the cash. But I didn’t want to think about it.

The next two weeks saw the autumn rolled up in the gloom of November. I love how it’s suddenly a lot lighter in the morning, after the clocks go back. But it doesn’t last. By the time I had worked my notice, it was dark when I got up and dark when I came home. It was either cold, drizzly or foggy. I couldn’t wait to fly to Rome.