Livia Gets A Surprise

28

Livia Gets A Surprise

    “These are very nice biscuits, dear,” said Livia, suppressing another yawn. It was extremely warm in Wallace’s sitting-room: it faced north-west. At home that would not have been warm but Livia, in the wake of considerable coaching from Maurice Black, now knew that the far side of the harbour was north, that the sun set over there (and conversely, rose over there) and that—although she did not understand how, or why—the north side of a building was the warm side, Downunder.

    “Yeah: ace,” agreed Panda, yawning unashamedly.

    “Get off to bed, for God’s sake,” said her father with a laugh in his voice.

    “I’m not tired!” lied Panda crossly.

    “Of course you are: you were up till all hours last night.”

    “It’s not even teatime!” cried Panda aggrievedly.

    “No. Well, go and have a nap before tea, then,” said her father cunningly.

    Panda pouted. She looked dubiously at Livia. “We’ve got a guest,” she pointed out sulkily.

    Livia put her teacup down. “Perhaps I should go, Wallace.”

    “No!” cried Panda.

    “Livia might have had enough of you for one day,” noted Wal detachedly.

    Poor Panda went very red and looked pleadingly at Livia.

    “No! Of course not, dear! What a thing to say!” she gasped.

    Wal merely replied drily: “You look all in.”

    “I— Yes, well, it’s always a big night, Opening Night... And to tell you the truth, I didn’t sleep terribly well the night before last.” She made a face. “Butterflies.”

    “Mm.” He rubbed his nose. “Look, why don’t the pair of you have a nap, then?”

    “No!” cried Panda crossly.

    “I’ll wake you up when tea’s ready,” he said heavily. He glanced at Livia. “Wake the both of you up.”

    “Well, I— Oh, do you mean dinner, Wallace?”

    He nodded, and Livia, very flustered, said: “Oh, well, I— But do you have a spare bedroom, Wallace?”

    “No,” said Panda sulkily.

    “Well, yeah, but she’s in it,” he said, grinning. “You can use my room, Livia.”

    Livia was visibly very tempted.

    “Go on, get ya head down,” he said.

    Panda gave a shattering yawn, and quickly glared at him.

    “You, too,” he said, lips twitching.

    She opened her mouth angrily but Livia got up and said quickly: “You know, I think that’s an excellent idea, Panda, dear. Come along, shall we? You can show me your room, too: I’d like to see it.”

    Panda got up uncertainly. “It’s really hidjus, worse ’n Dad’s,” she warned.

    “Go on,” said Wal, grinning. “—If ya wanna get out of that clobber, there’s plenty of pyjamas in my chest of drawers,” he added to Livia.

    She looked down at herself dubiously but Panda gave him a glare and said: “Don’t take any notice of him, he’s an idiot. You can borrow a nightie off me, if ya like. Come on.”

    “Well, forty winks would be very welcome!” said Livia with an attempt at an airy laugh. “If you’re sure, Wallace?”

    “Yes! Go on!” he said, laughing.

    Livia suffered Panda to lead her from the room.

     Panda had silently determined she would only have a lie-down. She wasn’t gonna go to sleep, she wasn’t a baby! Having shown Livia her hideous blueish-lilac room and its awful ensuite (the latter had impressed Livia greatly), she had lent her a nightie, explained that Dad’s room had its own ensuite and it was really grungy, y’know?—and lain herself down upon her bed, sneakers, heavy leather belt, and all. After about two seconds she sat up and removed the belt. About two seconds after that she turned her face into her pillow and was dead to the world.

    Livia looked cautiously round Wallace’s depressing bedroom. She went gingerly into the adjoining bathroom. It was rather terrible, in that its colour scheme was dominated by a sort of nasty ochre shade, but Livia was very impressed by its ceramic-tiled walls and ceiling, its different, darker tiles on the floor (she didn’t recognize them as ochre-tinted slate but she did recognize them as expensive) and by the ochre- and gold-streaked cream marble-look bath, vanity top, and bidet.—Aakronite, but Livia didn’t know that.—The gold taps were very pretty and there was a dear little gold soap-holder in the shape of a scallop-shell on a stand, as well as some of that quite expensive liquid soap. She took another look at the brand name on it and saw it was Yardley’s lily-of-the-valley and thought that was a funny sort of soap for a man to have, but was rather glad, because she liked it. She used the facilities, including the lily-of-the-valley soap, and went uncertainly back into the bedroom. She wouldn’t have been surprized if he’d come in, but he hadn’t.

    After some hesitation she removed her clothes, with an ear out for the sound of the door opening, and changed into Panda’s nightdress. It was quite a pretty one, pale yellow Dacron with quite a lot of white lace on it. But just a simple shift style, knee-length and sleeveless with a simple yoke: the sort of thing you could pick up at Marks and Spencer very cheap. In fact the sort of thing that Livia herself had worn for years. More years than she— Never mind that. Naturally she never wore that sort of thing any more.

    She glanced uncertainly at the door but it remained shut. So, after some fumbling, she drew the heavy curtains, peeled back the duvet—ugh, the sheets were dark green too, how could he!—and got into the bed.

     It would only be forty winks, because after all you didn’t go to tea at someone else’s home in order to...

    Livia yawned.

    Besides, what if Wallace was only waiting until Panda was asleep, to— This thought kept her awake, yawning though she was, for at least ten minutes. Then she turned on her side, snuggled into his horrible dark green pillow, and closed her eyes. The pillow smelt faintly of him: of his aftershave but also of Wallace himself and Livia was muzzily aware of a lovely, cosy, sexy feeling. Mmm...

    Two seconds after that she was dead to the world.

    Wal cleared away the afternoon tea things, yawning, and shoved the cups and saucers into the dishwasher. The plate Polly had given him and that was admired by Panda he washed carefully by hand, however. It wasn’t really antique: it was an oldish Royal Doulton thing, with a gold rim, very dark blue band, and a posy of roses in the centre. His Highness Sir Jake had pointed out that it wasn’t antique, it couldn’t possibly be later than late Edwardian and, ask him, it wasn’t even that: early twennies, lot of that repro Victorian stuff around then, not everything had been Art Deco in the twennies, ya know. And it wasn’t an occasional plate, it was part of a dinner set. And see that there? Crack in the glaze, ya wanna watch that. Polly had rejoined to that one, two seconds before Wal was gonna: “What with? A microscope?” His Sir Jake-ship had also pointed out that he could give Wal plenny of intros if he was keen on the real Victorian stuff, there was still a lot of it around in Pongo if ya knew where to— But at this point Wal had simply bellowed at the top of his lungs: “SHUT UP, JAKE! I LIKE IT!”

    Polly had agreed smugly: “So do I.”

    Sir Jacob had subsided, muttering. Mostly about the roomful of antique Spode she hardly ever used, but they had both ignored that.

    Wal got a warm feeling whenever he used the plate. He dried it very carefully, smiling, and put it back carefully in its special place in the cupboard between a genuine Bournevita mug (which he had refused (a) to let Sir Jacob buy and (b) to at least let Jake get valued, for Chrissakes) and a genuine Frigidaire mug which in the wake of the Bournevita thing he’d never let on to Jake he had, and on top of an American Audubon plate with a scarlet tanager on it that ditto, in view of Sir Jacob’s known views on “so-called collector crap that idiots with more money than sense get suckered into buying.” Wal loved his bird plate and he didn’t see why he should have to justify it to bloody Jake.

    Wandering back into the sitting-room he decided to take forty winks himself. Then he’d see about tea.

    He kicked his shoes off, unbuckled his belt and lay down on the pale grey sofa with his back to the view of the harbour. Oughta close the blinds, really, it was too light in this room to...

    It was dark when he came to. “Crikey,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and trying to peer at his watch. He stumbled over to the door, only barking his shins once on the foul coffee table that was made of some space-age black shiny substance—inherited from the previous owner, like the rugs and drapes—and switched the light on. Shit. Har’ past eight.

    He tiptoed cautiously into his daughter’s room. Dead to the world. Snoring slightly, in fact. He eased her sneakers off gently and covered her feet with a corner of the duvet. Not much point in trying to undress her, she was a dead weight, that kid. He closed the narrow blueish-lilac blinds that matched the sicky carpet, and tiptoed out again, closing the door very gently after him.

    Then he cautiously opened his own door, and smiled. The dim light from the pale grey passage showed him Livia with one arm out of the covers, and her hair all tangled on the pillow. The duvet was half off her. Wal hesitated, then, knowing that having it on in summer gave him Hellish nightmares, he tiptoed in and eased it right off her, leaving only the dark green sheet. He looked at her uncertainly.

    “Livia,” he whispered.

    Livia slept on, her mouth slightly open.

    Wal’s lips twitched. He tiptoed out, closing the door very gently after him.

    In the kitchen hesitated, then made himself a cheese sandwich with lashings of chutney. Not that there was anything else to eat, actually; and there was only bread and milk because Panda had remembered on the way back from MOTAT that they were out of them. He got himself a beer and went back to the sitting-room, where he ate off the coffee table, listening to the sports results on the radio, turned down very low. Then he put the TV on, hurriedly turning its volume down low, also, but it was a choice between an American TV movie about a cripple—usual Sunday weepie, in fact—and some bloody boring documentary on the other channel, what’d they wanna have flaming documentaries for on a Sunday, for God’s sake! He didn’t stop to ascertain whether it was about the Gulf Crisis, the Recession, the development of the atomic bomb, or saving the environment, all of which were favourite topics, either homegrown or imported, but turned it off. Possibly when the weepie was over there might be something decent on like NBA basketball or wrestling, but he couldn’t be blowed hanging around waiting. He yawned, and got up to get himself another beer.

    When he’d drunk it he took another peep at Panda but she was still out like a light. So much for naps before tea.

    He went back into the sitting-room, and dithered for a bit.

    Finally he said aloud: “Oh, blow it!” and switched the sitting-room lights out, and went off to his room.

    Livia was still asleep. She stirred and muttered as he turned a bedside lamp on, but didn’t wake up. Wal went off to the bathroom. He didn’t bother to be particularly quiet about his shower.

    When he came back she was still asleep, this time with her face buried in the pillow. He got into bed and gave her a bit of push. She mumbled into the pillow.

    Wal turned the lamp out, turned on his side, breathed in the scent of warm Livia for about five minutes in a cosy, sexy daze, and fell fast asleep.

    When he woke up it was still dark but there was a hint of greyish light where the curtains didn’t fit too well at the far left-hand side of the window, so it couldn’t be all that far off dawn. He had a monstrous hard-on. He rolled on his side and snuggled up to her back in the dark. Mm: lovely...

    After some time of just pressing it against her and cuddling her a bit, he pulled the nightie right up and pressed it to her bare bum—he himself didn’t have anything on, he rarely wore pyjamas in summer. Ooh, lovely, ooh, Livia.

    “Livia,” he said into her neck. “Livia? Are you awake?”

    Livia gave a small snort, and then began to snore.

    Wal just went on pressing it against her and squeezing the tits. Silicone or not, they weren’t half bad.

    A period of this activity passed and then he slid a hand under her and over her belly, sighing, and fumbled at her bush: ooh, nice, mm...

    “Livia?” he said into her ear. He began to nibble the ear. “Mmm, darling: come on, Livia.”

    Livia came drowsing up from fathoms deep, all warm and cosy—lovely—mmm...

    “Wallace?” she mumbled groggily.

    “Come on, darling,” he said into her neck, pressing it against her bum.

    “Wallace,” said Livia groggily.

    He nibbled her ear a bit and, releasing her tit, grabbed his cock and pushed at her cheeks.

    “Oh,” said Livia faintly.

    “Darling,” he grunted, rubbing his tip against her arse.

    “Oh—Wallace,” said Livia faintly, raising her knees a little.

     Grunting, he nibbled her shoulder a bit and rubbed her arse, and then got it further under there—ooh! With his other hand he fumbled a bit and Livia gave a little gasp.

    “Nice?” he muttered.

    “Mm—darling,” she said faintly.

    At this Wal took his hand away from his prick and put that arm right round her and squeezed her very hard against him and muttered: “Hold me like that.”

     Livia obligingly tightened her thighs on him.

    “Good,” he breathed. He rubbed her clit a bit more, sighing.

    “Mm!” said Livia in a little squeak.

     Wal kissed her neck a bit and nibbled at her ear, breathing hard, and then he put his tongue in her ear. Livia gave a deep sigh and pushed her bum hard against his genitals and Wallace felt her wet on him. He pulled urgently at her shoulder and she turned in his grasp and pressed against him, opening her mouth as she did so. Wal clamped his mouth on hers, rolled on top of her and somehow just slid right into her. A wave of sweetness swamped his whole body. He heard Livia gasp: “Oh—oh—oh!” in a squeaky, surprized voice and he just had time to realize as her fingers dug into his upper-arms that she was coming and was as astounded by its easiness and rightness as he was before he just poured into her.

    ... “That was so cosy,” she murmured, with her head on his shoulder.

    “Mm,” he said, hugging her a bit.

    “Darling,” said Livia, swallowing. She touched his cock gently. “Darling,” she said, sniffling.

    “Here: you’re not bawling, are ya?” he asked in alarm.

    “No!” wept Livia.

    Wal pulled her tightly against him. “It was all right, wasn’t it?”

    “Easy!” she wept.

    “Ye-ah... Ya mean it just felt right, eh? Kinda... natural?”

    “Yes!” wept Livia.

    “What are ya bawling for, then?” he asked in perplexity.

    “I don’t—know—darling!” wept Livia.

    Wal sighed a bit and hugged her and murmured: “It’s all right; you’re all right. Don’t bawl.”

    At last she sniffed and said: “I’m sorry, darling. Have you got a handkerchief?”

   He gave her a bunch of tissues from the box on the bedside table. Livia blew her nose noisily.

    “Better?” he said.

    “Mm.”

    “Look,” he said, swallowing uneasily: “I haven’t got anything catching, ya know.”

    “What? Oh! No, nor have I, dear... Well, I don’t usually do it without a condom. Well, it wouldn’t be sensible, would it?”

    “No. So it wasn’t that that you were bawling about, then?”

    “No.” Livia looked up at him shyly and went very pink and said:     “It was lovely, Wallace. I don’t know how to describe it... Just you, being in me... It was lovely.”

    Wal went a bit red himself and said: “Yeah.” He swallowed and added hoarsely: “Look, I never really meant— I mean I— Well, you know!” He laughed uneasily.

    “Ye-es...” she said dubiously, looking uncertainly into his face.

    “Well, shit, Livia, I never meant to do ya like that: I mean, I just woke up and there you were—and… Well, anyway, ya liked it all right, didn’tcha?” he said lamely.

    Suddenly Livia hugged him tightly and said into his chest: “I loved it, Wallace, it was just the nicest it’s ever, ever been: it was so... I can’t describe it. It was so cosy.

    “Yeah,” he said patting her back. “I thought so, too. You’re not gonna bawl again, are ya?”

    “Nov” she said, pressing tightly against him and sniffing a bit.

    Wal hugged her and they were both silent for a while.

    Then she said: “Mm, you are lovely and hairy, darling, like a lovely bear!”

    “Am I? Didn’t think it was that heavy.”

    “No-o... But sort of all over,” said Livia, wriggling pleasurably against him.

    “Here: you’re not trying to get me started again, are ya?” he asked in mock alarm.

    She looked up quickly, “Oh, no, Wallace: I’d never try to—to force you when you didn’t feel like it.”

    Wal looked at her, jaw dropping, and saw she really meant it. “God Almighty,” he said weakly. “Force me all ya like: I won’t object!”

    “Really?”

    “Yeah. –Crikey, you must’ve known a few peculiar blokes in ya time,” he muttered.

    Livia gulped. “No, it isn’t that... It was just—that time after we’d been to see the horses and—and you were very tired...” Her voice faltered.

    “Oh,” he said, making a horrible face. “Then.”

    “Yes,” she agreed, looking up at him anxiously.

    “Well,” he said, settling her against his shoulder again: “partly that was because I wasn’t too sure whether you only fancied a one night stand with me, and I knew bloody well that wasn’t what I wanted;”—Livia gulped—“and partly,” he said, scratching his whiskers slowly with his free hand, “I suppose it was because I was, shit-scared that what with all the bloody Drambuie and the sticky kids and that, I wouldn’t come up to bloody Maurie Black’s standard. That I wouldn’t flaming well pass!” he added loudly.

    “Pass?” she said blankly.

    “Pass the flaming test! Be good enough for ya!” he said angrily.

    “It’s not like that, Wallace,” said Livia in a tiny voice.

    “No.” He looked down at her and smiled sheepishly. “No, well: as it turns out, it isn’t, eh?”

    “It—it never is, I don’t think,” said Livia shakily. “I mean, you can’t compare it, when you’re doing it, can you?”

    Wal replied in a hard voice: “What about after you’ve done it, though?”

    “After— Oh. Well, I suppose... But everybody does it a bit differently; I don’t think...” Her voice trailed off.

    “Everybody’s got their good points, eh?” he said with a little smile.

    “Mm!” she said, nodding hard.

    “Ya could be right. Only there’s times when some of us older ones get a sort of feeling that it might not be there when we need it to be.”

    “That’s silly, Wallace,” said Livia faintly.

    He was about to point out that she wouldn’t know, she wasn’t a bloke, when she added thoughtfully: “I’ve often thought it must be very difficult, being a man. I mean, when you’re young... Well, I mean, there it is, and you can’t always control it, can you?”

    “No!” he choked.

    “Then you get older and— Well, you can’t always make it—you know. Be hard.”

    “Yeah, it’s a dog’s life!” he choked.

    Livia couldn’t quite see why he was laughing, but she was glad he was, and looked up at him and smiled.

    Wal sort of forgot why he was laughing, if he’d ever really known, and hugged her and said in her ear: “Anyway, you can force me any time ya fancy it. If I’ve got a drop there to give, it’ll all be yours. And if not—well, I can always do something nice for you, ya know!”

    “Yes. Thank you, darling,” said Livia, swallowing.

    “Go on, hold it,” he said in her ear, grinning.

    “Yes. Can I call you a bear, dear?”

    “Uh—yeah. Call me what ya like,” he returned in a stunned voice.

    Livia pressed against him and held his cock and said: “Lovely furry bear: darling Wallace Bear.”

    Wal shut his eyes and sighed. He just lay there letting her play with him a bit and call him a bear and press against him for ages…

    Finally Livia stirred and said: “I must go to the little girls’ room, dear.”

    “Mm,” he said yawning. “You go. Then we might have another nap, eh?”

    Livia came to again to the sound of doors opening and shutting and water running. She became aware of the smell of burnt toast. Then Wallace’s voice said in a hoarse whisper: “Shove off! She isn’t awake yet and if she was, she wouldn’t fancy a breakfast of burnt offerings!”

    She sat up groggily and said: “I am awake, dear. Goodness: is that tray for me, Panda, dear?”

    “Yeah; and it isn’t burnt!” said Panda defiantly.

    “Much,” added Wal drily.

    Livia became aware that he was in his shirt and trousers and that Panda was wearing a horrid brown skirt and a cream blouse that must be her school uniform. Of course: it was a working day.

    She allowed Panda to deposit the tray on the bedside table, remarking that it looked delicious, but first she really must—

    “You don’t have to eat that,” he said when she came back from the ensuite.

    Even though Panda had disappeared, Livia glared at him and said: “Of course I do.”

    Wal came and peered at the tray as she adjusted it on her knee. “Well, at least she’s scraped the toast,” he said fairly. “She ate all the marmalade last week, that’s why she’s given you apricot jam. You can ignore the peanut butter: I’ve tried pointing out to her that it’s fit only for the sub-human but it hasn’t sunk in.”

   Livia ignored this and sipped her orange juice. At least, it looked like orange juice but it had a very odd taste. Not nasty, exactly, and not off: just odd. “What time is it, Wallace?”

    “Crack of dawn, by your standards,” he said with a grimace. “Uh—no: eight-twentyish. S’pose I’ll have to drive her to school, she’ll have missed the bloody bus.”

    “Oh, dear.”

    He grimaced. “Missed the bus every bloody day she’s been here: I think she’s doing it on purpose.”

    “Do—do the other girls’ fathers drop them off, dear? Is that it?”

    “More or less, yeah. Well, it’s often their mums, but yeah. Not the done thing to roll up to St Ursie’s on the bloody bus.”

    “I see.”

    “Is that toast all right?” he said as she took a bite of it.

    Livia nodded round it.

    “She insisted,” he said with a sigh.

    “It was very sweet of her, dear.”

    Wal sighed again and sat down heavily beside her legs. “Yeah.” He took a piece of toast and began eating.

    “Have some jam, Wallace,” she said.

    “Mm? Oh!” Wal looked at the piece of toast in his hand in a disconcerted way. ‘‘Yeah—ta.” He put apricot jam on it.

    Livia went on eating her breakfast automatically, but she didn’t taste much of it.

    Finally he said: “I rung Amy, a bit back. Thought she might be panicking.”

    “Oh—thank you, Wallace.”

    “She was almost as over the moon about it as Panda is,” he said on a dry note.

    “Oh,” said Livia cautiously.

    Wal ate his toast, not looking at her. Livia drank milky instant coffee with a hand that shook a little.

    Then he said: “Look, why don’tcha move ya stuff in here?”

    “Move here?” said Livia very faintly.

    “Yeah. Why not?”

    Livia swallowed. “Do you mean... What about my suite, Wallace?”

    “Give it up. Must be costing you a fortune, anyway.”

    “Yes— I mean— Are you sure?” she said faintly.

    Frowning at the tray, he replied: “Give it a go, eh?”

    “Yes,” said Livia weakly.

    “See how it works out.”

    “Mm,” she said, swallowing.

    “What have ya got to lose?” he added airily.

    What Livia had to lose—apart from Maurice Black, obviously, and the possibility of lovely young Nigel—was any other better prospect that might happen along. In fact she’d be risking everything on the chance that this abrupt, mannerless, and not very kind man whom she didn’t understand at all might want more from her than just a couple of weeks’ fling. All the expense of the trip, the new clothes...

    Livia didn’t weigh all the pros and cons, but she did fully recognize that if she did this it would be Wallace Briggs or nothing. And that she might very well find herself going home with nothing. And there was certainly nothing to go home to: Rudi hadn’t even phoned her.

    “Yes. Very well, Wallace. If you’d like that,” she said in a small voice.

    “No bloody playing around, eh?” he said grimly, not looking at her.

    Livia picked up her cup with a hand that visibly trembled. “No. Of course not,” she agreed faintly, sipping.

    Wal got up. “That’s that, then,” he said, going out.

    Livia put her cup down with a crash and sank back limply against the pillows. It was some time before she could even pull herself together to the point where she was able to decide that she felt... stunned. Yes, stunned, really.