All Passion Spent by Bergotte (read with me .TXT) 📖

out of friendship rather than love though, isn’t it?” “Yes, I think so, and you think so, but Paul doesn’t know that.” “Doesn’t he? Didn’t you tell him?” “No,” said Bella, “I didn’t really get the chance. All I want to do now is to forget my argument with Paul, to go out and have a good time. I do enjoy being with you.” “If you’ve finished your drink, let’s get going, I’ll just lock the back door and make sure my bike’s put away.” “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

A short car journey brought Michael and Bella to the gates of the college. The car park was full, but they managed to find a space near a wall. The two walked hand in hand through the grounds, towards the main hall. Michael’s heart sank when he saw his unwelcome visitor Lucy waiting with her crowd of friends, outside the hall. “Hello, Mr Fellingham,” she shouted. Michael ignored her and looked away. “Hello, Mrs Fellingham,” she shouted, a bit louder. Isabella looked across at her and nodded her head, acknowledging the girl’s existence. “So they think I’m Rita,” said Bella, contentedly. “Why shouldn’t they? You look exactly like her. “I’m not dressed the same though.” “They see Rita so rarely they wouldn’t know.” They entered and made their way to the bar. “What would you like to drink?” asked Michael, “it’s all non-alcoholic here by the way, I’m afraid. We’ve got sixteen and seventeen year olds on the premises.” “Fruit juice will suit me, pineapple please,” said Bella, smiling at him.
At a little after 8.00 p.m. Rita phoned Michael at home, but he was either not there or not answering her call. She guessed that he had gone to the disco with her sister and she now decided, on the spur of the moment, to go too and confront him. She went upstairs to Sally’s bedroom, where she found her friend recently returned from the shower, her hair under a dryer. She waited for a few moments, watching Sally pass the brush through her hair several times and then switch off the machine. Silence fell. “I’ve got to go out for a bit,” she announced, abruptly. “I thought we were going out together,” replied Sally. “Something’s come up.” “To do with Michael?” “Yes, I’ll be back later,” Rita said, on her way downstairs. “I’ve got my phone,” she called, and closed the front door behind her, without hearing her friend say that she was going out herself.

When Rita walked into the hall she could see a happy, smiling Isabella dancing with Michael and her blood boiled. All the ‘I don’t care’ attitude, that she had displayed earlier in the afternoon at the funeral, evaporated, disappeared like a puff of smoke. Now a jealous rage descended upon her. It was as if some external force had enveloped her. She was like something possessed of an evil spirit. She waited and watched, seething with indignation, hardly able to control her feelings of intense animosity. She wanted to pounce on her sister like a caged lion let loose and scratch and tear at Isabella’s flesh with her claws, digging her nails into that soft, soft skin, pulling out her hair and permanently disfiguring her.
Rita watched as Michael escorted Isabella to the table where they were sitting. But he did not stay with her. One of the other girls, obviously a sixth-form student was now pulling him towards the dance-floor. Isabella did not seem to mind in the least as the skimpily clad girl led Michael off. Rita ground her teeth as she watched this Delilah’s body gyrating very close to her husband. It seemed to her like a simulated sex show, the drums and bass of the accompanying music seeming to accentuate every sensuous thrust of the young girl’s torso. What was even more galling was the fact that Rita had never experienced the sheer exuberance of being with Michael on the dance-floor as this unknown girl did. She constantly flashed her white teeth at him in a smile of total abandonment and ecstasy that she had never encountered for herself.

Rita no longer cared if she created a scene at the disco. She went over to the table where Isabella was sitting and hissed at her, “How could you do this to me?” Bella said, “Hello Rita, grab a chair and sit down.” Rita did as she was bidden and then repeated her question. Calmly, Isabella replied, “You’ve left him, you can’t have it both ways.” Michael returned to the table. “Good evening Rita,” he said stiffly. At this point, something in Rita seemed to explode. She did not go for her husband but for her sister. She had always suspected her of seducing him, of enticing him away from her. She lunged at Bella, pulling her from her chair and throwing her to the floor and grabbing her by the wrists while she simultaneously head butted her in the chest. Some of the other students were now staring in disbelief at seeing the two Mrs Fellinghams fighting.

Michael grappled with his wife, prizing her away from Isabella and holding her on the floor with her hands behind her back. When he thought she had calmed down sufficiently he let her go. She rose from the floor and sat at the table in a sulky silence. Michael poured some fruit juice into a glass and passed it to her. She later went to the bar herself where she bought several bottles of mineral water. Occasionally some of the students during the rest of the evening asked her dance. She complied with their requests, trying to make Michael jealous but realising after some time that he was happy in Isabella’s company and didn’t seem to notice her antics. She left the hall without a word. As the evening wore on Michael and Isabella prepared to leave the dance. Michael noticed something on the table amongst the empty bottles and glasses, glinting in the lights. He picked it up, visibly shocked when he did so. “What’s the matter?” asked Bella. “Oh, nothing,” replied Michael, “it’s just late, that’s all. It’s been a long day.” He silently slipped Rita’s wedding ring into his pocket as they rose from the table to leave.


CHAPTER TWENTY

Saturday, Oct 28: evening

On the return journey to Sally’s home, now her home, in Weston, Rita realised she should have visited the Ladies room before going to the car park. She desperately needed the toilet. She drew up in the road but there was no parking space. She drove a few yards down the road and managed to squeeze her car into a tiny space. It was then that realisation dawned; she had not got the front door key Sally had given her on Thursday. She had made sure to put it in the pocket of the jeans she was wearing but had decided to change, at the last minute, into the shortest mini-skirt she could find in the wardrobe, leaving the key behind.

As she walked along Sally’s garden path her high heel shoes clattered on the paving stones. There were no lights on in the house. She rang the doorbell several times but there was no answer. Her friend was still out. She glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven o’ clock. There was nothing for it. She would have to go. She went across the front lawn and found a corner of the garden. Gingerly she crouched down, hoping that the garden hedge would hide her from public view of the street.

To her horror the next door neighbour’s front door opened and a man stood with two empty milk bottle in his hand. He put them on the front step and stood up straight looking across the garden. He went away, leaving his door slightly open. Rita then became suddenly aware of a powerful beam from a flashlight shining directly at her. The beam was not trained on her face or upper body but straight at her open legs. “Switch that light off!” she shouted.

The man did as he was commanded. “I’m very sorry Miss,” he said, in a rather cultured voice, “I heard footsteps earlier and saw a silhouette in the garden. I wanted to know what was going on.” “Now you do,” retorted Rita, straightening up and pulling her clothes about her. “It’s not good behaviour… using someone’s garden for that purpose,” replied the man. “I live here. I’ve not got a key. I’m locked out and…” Her voice trailed away as she started to cry. “Come inside and get warm,” called the man. Rita hesitated, but several thoughts flashed through her mind. She was wet from lowering her backside on to long wet grass. Her clothes were wet and she was now very cold. The alternative was to wait in her car, damp and cold, but for how long? She went through the gate and up the path of the man next door.

She tried to see what he was like. He must have been in his fifties, dressed in a long, dark red dressing gown. He looked quite nice, she thought and did not seem to present any threat. “There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs,” he said gently, pointing in that direction. “Thank you,” she said, as she took off shoes and mounted the staircase.

In the bathroom she removed her wet tights and pants, screwed them tightly into a ball and thrust them into a compartment of her handbag. She washed thoroughly and applied some perfume she had with her, to her wrists and behind her ear lobes. She made her way downstairs into the living room, where she saw the man sitting in an armchair next to a log fire. She saw that he had earlier left the fire to go out but now had put on a fresh log. “Do sit down. Warm yourself,” he urged. She sat in the other armchair opposite him.
“I was just going to have a night-cap… would you like to join me?” he asked. So polite, thought Rita. She looked around the room. It was clean but not tidy. Rita felt that it was lived in. There was a wall lined from floor to ceiling with books and a cabinet containing CD player and radio, small, discreet, wall mounted speakers. “Yes,” said Rita confidently, “what does it consist of?” “I have different things. How about a cup of tea with a drop of the hard stuff in it?" “I’ve never drunk whiskey before,” replied Rita. “Like to try it?” “Okay. What’s your name, by the way?” “Let’s not introduce ourselves, let’s make up names… like Jack and Jill.” “Okay… Jack.”

The man left the room. Rita closed her eyes and drifted into a dream-sleep. She was Jill and he was Jack going up a hill to fetch … something… what? Fire… heat and a scorching feeling running up her legs. She hoisted one leg over the arm of the chair, out of harm’s way. He returned some time later carrying two large steaming mugs and a bowl of sugar on a tray, which he put down, in the middle of the room. He dragged two small tables from a nest of three and put one to the side of each chair, placing a mug on each table. Rita opened her eyes, reached out for the mug, tasted the hot tea and then helped herself to a spoonful of sugar. Jack sat down opposite her. She knew that her skirt had ridden up to her waist and was acting as no more than a pelmet. She didn’t care. She would lead Jack on and probably give in to him if that’s what she decided she wanted.