Well done for finding this story again. I moved it into the M section because it got a bit saucy, and will stay that way. If not next chapter, then certainly at some point in the future. I hope you enjoy.
"Oh Jean," Marilla flung herself to his side as he lay in his hospital bed, a grey blanket rucked around him in a room that was white and clinical. Much to his disgust Jean had been placed in a room with three other patients; the doctors kept him overnight to monitor him in case he was concussed.
"Hey, watch it," he replied petulantly. He had taken a corner too fast and driven into a tree, wrecking the car. He was lucky to escape with nothing worse than some cuts and bruises and a broken arm; but his cast was large and bulky, and he felt very sorry for himself.
Marilla drew back to look at him, he looked dreadful with a long laceration down his cheek, two black eyes and a split lip. He reminded her of Rachel after one particularly bad day though she kept that to herself.
"I walked into the door again, so clumsy of me," Rachel said indistinctly.
Marilla didn't even deign to answer her at first, choosing merely to look at her with pity in her eyes. "Rachel," she asked eventually. "How long have we known each other?"
"Oh, I don't know, years and years I guess."
"Don't you trust me?"
"I trust you implicitly."
"Then for the good Lord's sake please stop lying to me. He's a bully, he likes to hit you." Rachel hung her head, unable to look Marilla in the eye as she continued relentlessly, sick of the fabrication, "I know it, Matthew knows it and you know it, Rachel. There I've said it, it is what it is and you don't need to pretend any longer."
Rachel did not look up, but she did reach her left hand out blindly. Marilla caught it and grasped it gently, sending all the love she could muster through her grip.
"Hey, look at me," Jean said grumpily as Marilla gazed to the middle distance very obviously not looking at him, "I'm the patient, remember."
"Oh sorry, Jean. I was just reminded of something."
"You mean because of my good looks?"
Marilla half-heartedly chuckled, "something like that. Now how are you really?" She asked, though Jean was not one to put on a brave face.
He pouted through his split lip, "I hurt everywhere."
"Did they not give you pain relief?"
"Well they gave me a bit, but I'm still sore."
"Oh, my poor darling. What can I get you?"
Marilla sat by his bed and held his other hand until he pulled free, "ugh, your hand is sweaty," he complained.
"Shall I get you a glass of water?"
"Hm, I'd rather have something stronger," he said.
"Not after your accident surely?"
Jean sighed melodramatically, "I guess not."
"Mom, I have to stay by his side. He's helpless," Marilla announced over dinner that night.
"No, I forbid it, Marilla. It's not the done thing for an unmarried woman to spend the night alone with a man. He can go home to his parents, but you will not be staying there to help out."
"Aww Mom, nothing can happen, he's wounded after all."
Her mother was adamant however and Marilla had to break the news to Jean. He was not happy. The last thing he wanted to do was move back in with his parents even short term. "Can't you persuade her? You're old enough surely. She can't actually stop you, you know. You're 24 Marilla, it's time your parents stopped running your life."
Marilla packed her bags ignoring her mother's protests. The first thing she did when she arrived was a load of washing, both clothes and dishes then she vacuumed the floor. Jean was more hopeless than she expected, and she had to help him do everything, washing, dressing. She had to cut up his food for him and drive him to work. Sometimes she thought he might be laying it on a bit thick, but then she chided herself for her selfishness. Poor Jean was in pain and needed her.
One night after a couple of drinks, Marilla and Jean became rather vigorously amorous on the couch. Marilla's mother's words rang in her head, 'be careful darling, sometimes things get out of hand', but his hand on her breast and his tongue in her mouth felt so very good. Since buttons were hard to manage single handedly Marilla undid her blouse and bra for him and then hurriedly undressed Jean. He stopped and rolled over to pull open his bedside drawer. Once again, his lack of working hand thwarted him and between them, they had to put the sheath on. Marilla wanted to giggle, it was so bizarre, but Jean's distinct lack of humour stopped her. Then she lay back down on her side on the bed beside him. Jean kissed her some more. Roughly he rolled her over on to her back and clambered on top. The problem was he couldn't get his balance. Inexperienced Marilla impatiently waited for him to get into position, her legs instinctively wide open. Jean toppled over and scrambled to right himself, swearing as he went. "How about I go on top?" Marilla suggested gently.
"No, blast it, it's the man who goes on top, don't you know anything?" Jean snapped. He had waited so long to get inside her pants and now his stupid arm was impeding him. Eventually he lost his desire and he angrily turned away from her, leaving Marilla unsatisfied. She rolled towards him and softly touched his shoulder, "it's okay Jean, we can try again some other time."
"Urgh," he grunted.
"Please darling, don't give up. I so desperately want to do it with you. I want you to be my first, please Jean." Marilla lay looking at his back for a while, she was keen, very keen and now it seemed nothing would come of it? Would he mind if she? Best not while he was in this state, she supposed. She got out of bed to go to the bathroom thinking she might be able to relieve herself if she did it quietly. Strangely enough the image that came to mind as she climaxed was not of Jean's broad chest looming over her but of buxom Rachel in her bathing costume when they were young girls. Marilla was embarrassed about it later; her mind was playing tricks on her.
They did manage it a few nights later. Jean was still unbalanced, but he worked out a way to stay on top. He pressed himself into her and Marilla sucked in a breath as she felt him enter. So, this was sex, she thought to herself as he groaned and moaned on top of her. Truth be told it was a bit boring after a while and it hurt. When he had finished Jean walked out to the bathroom to clean himself up. Marilla watched him go. Was that it? What about her? She had pretended she was enjoying herself, but it was rather repulsive. "Mm," said Jean contentedly when he returned. He smacked her thigh gently before he turned over and went to sleep, his snores ringing out shortly afterwards.
They did it often after that, Marilla assumed it was her fault that she did not enjoy it and certainly Jean never disabused her of that notion. He certainly seemed to enjoy himself up there, she would watch as the ecstasy played across his face. Sometimes they shared a post-coital cigarette, she liked that bit. The warmth of a collegiate cigarette implied a strong bond between them.
"Miss Cuthbert, do you mind coming into my office for a moment?" Mr Pye the general manager's voice sounded clipped and unnatural over the intercom.
"Of course, Mr Pye," Marilla put down her pen and got up, straightening her skirt as she went. She had not seen Jean that morning, but sometimes he had a meeting to attend to on the way to work; though he had not mentioned anything the day before.
Marilla knocked at Mr Pye's door and was admitted. She sat down on the chair opposite his desk and waited until he finished his letter. He looked up at her with a frown, his fingers interlaced. There was a pause, Marilla waited. Mr Pye cleared his throat and started, "Miss Cuthbert, have you any idea where M. Pouce is today?"
"What? I mean no," she stuttered.
"M. Pouce's whereabouts are unknown to us and a sum of money has gone missing. Do you know anything about it? I understand you two are very chummy."
Marilla's blood ran cold. She had no idea what he was talking about, but Mr Pye's normally friendly tone was stern and accusatory. She paused, thinking it through, "no. I have no idea."
"Do you deny that you are friends with him?"
The details of their relationship were an ill-kept secret. "No, I don't deny it, but I don't know anything about any money."
"You must see how it looks, the Accounting Manager and the bookkeeper date and now some money has gone missing. I checked the bank account today and several thousand dollars has gone astray. What can you tell me about it?"
Marilla felt sick, she swallowed hard and whispered, "nothing".
"Very well, you are excused Miss Cuthbert. I am not firing you - yet. But I am sending you home pending an investigation, on no pay naturally. Take your things and leave the office. I will call you when I know more."
Marilla looked at him in shock, did her years' service mean nothing? Sadly, she left his office and made her way out to her desk. She picked up her handbag and ignoring her colleague's questions walked to her car. Tears prickled at the back of her eyes, but she would not cry in front of them.
The front door was unlocked, and the apartment was empty; not that it had never been full exactly. The sink was full of dirty dishes and the bed was unmade, but it had an air of desolation about it. His clothes were missing, Marilla bent down and found the shirt and tie she had given him for his birthday lying crumpled on the floor. That was when it hit her. Jean had used her from the start and now she was implicated in his crime. Had he ever loved her? Was he even capable of love? Marilla collapsed on the floor and wept; hot tears tracing down her face. She blew her nose on the shirt; his aftershave irritating her nasal passages.
Marilla reflected on their months together. She had often declared her love for him, had he ever reciprocated? Had he ever given her one thing? She pulled the broken locket over her head and studied it intently as it dangled from one finger. All he had ever given her was this useless trinket; it was whole when they were together? What rubbish. Rachel had been right. Marilla's tears turned to anger as she remembered the backhanded compliments, the slights. The dress that would have looked better if she had been pretty, the work she did for him with no recognition, his flirting at the harvest dance. She undressed and took a shower; washing her hair with his shampoo. After stuffing her clothes in a bag, she left the front door wide open and strode out to the car. She had to apologise to Rachel. She had been right all along, Marilla deserved better than this trumped up little Frenchman.
Rachel was just putting the baby down for a nap when Marilla walked into the house without knocking. Rachel turned around in shock, putting her arms out to a very distressed Marilla. When her tears subsided, she hiccupped a profound apology, "I'm so so-sorry Rachel. You were completely right. He wasn't any good, he's been playing me for a fool all this time. And now I think I'm about to be sacked." Rachel held out one of Thomas's handkerchiefs and turned to fetch a drink while Marilla noisily trumpeted her nose through it.
When Marilla had told her the whole sordid tale, Rachel said, "don't wait to be sacked, resign. They'll miss you soon enough. You as good as run that place, I'm sure."
Marilla reached out to clasp Rachel's hand, giggling a bit as she did so, "they're useless without me. Nobody has a clue. No one can even get paid."
"That's the spirit. Let them come begging, and when they do ask for a pay rise."
"I'll spend the lot on you, you know." They grinned at each conspiratorially other over their coffee.
It was pretty much as Rachel predicted; Apples for Apples came begging. No one had a clue how the convoluted pay process worked. Over the years Marilla had requested a better system but had been ignored. Mr Pye finally understood the predicament as his unpaid staff battered down his door. They were they out of pocket and up in arms.
Please Marilla, we need you," he pleaded one wet afternoon as rain drummed on the corrugated iron roof. Marilla stared at him, thinking hard. On the one hand she needed the money, but on the other they'd proved they didn't really trust her. "On three conditions," she said eventually.
"Yes, anything," said Mr Pye desperately.
"I need more money," she said, ticking off her fingers. "Someone to replace me when you grant me the promotion I deserve, and you must implement the improved payroll system I suggested last year."
Mr Pye put his head in his hands, "that's the problem I don't have more money. Pouce nearly wiped us out."
"Leave it to me," Marilla said. "With some streamlined processes, I reckon I can save you money. I agree to waive my pay rise for six months."
Finally, a glimmer of hope. Mr Pye looked up at her his eyes shining in gratitude, "you really think so?"
Marilla nodded then getting to her feet said, "okay, I'll get right on it, Mr Pye." He watched her leave gratefully.
In a few short months Marilla had the place turned around. She had implemented several new accounting processes which streamlined several practices and saved Apples for Apples thousands. Mr Pye granted her a pay rise, and all was looking up in Marilla's world. Except of course she did feel like a fool whenever she thought of the way she had fallen for Jean. Never again, she promised herself. "Next time you think I'm acting like a fool, please let me know," she begged Rachel one afternoon. "I know I'm not the best listener, but just remind me of how I behaved this time, and I'll try to take note.
