Part One Hundred And Nineteen
On the Friday evening, Karen drove over to George's. She knew they had a rehearsal the next day, and that she would obviously see George then, but she needed to see her now. She'd had a pretty weird week all in all, and what she really needed was to hold George in her arms, and to feel the soothing caresses that only George could give. She hadn't arranged to see George, but she reflected that if George had company, she would simply leave it till tomorrow. But when she drew up in George's driveway, she was relieved to see that George's car was the only one there. George looked surprised to see her when she opened the door, but no less pleased because of this. "This is an unexpected pleasure," She said after closing the door. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you till tomorrow." "I've had a pretty odd week, one way and another," Karen replied, putting her arms round George and briefly laying her cheek on George's. "And I could do with some sense knocking into me." "Not usually one of my specialities," George said, kissing her. "But I'll try, if that's what you want."
When George had poured them both a large glass of chilled white wine, they went into the garden, the mid evening air being warm enough to sit outside. "So, what's happened?" George asked, once they'd both lit up cigarettes to keep off the midges. "I appear to have made a very wrong decision, and I'm not used to having that pointed out to me by someone who used to be both my lover, and one of my inmates, though obviously not at the same time. I don't like arguing with Yvonne, because it's not something I've done to that extent, since the day I told her that I was sleeping with Ritchie. There's, I don't know, there's just something not right about it." "What do you think you've done that is so catastrophic?" "Last week, when you phoned me, I was taking Denny to Ashmore to see Shell." "Yes, I know that, and I also know that you wouldn't have done it without first considering every possible consequence." "Your faith in me is commendable," Karen said dryly. "If a little misguided." "Don't be stupid," George said firmly. "You might take risks with your own safety and sanity, but you don't with other people's." "That's one way of putting it," Karen said with a small smile. "But when Yvonne saw Denny on Sunday, she could see the difference in her immediately. I probably wouldn't have done, because I clearly don't know Denny as well as everyone else seems too, including Dominic of all people. Denny has always been very easy to influence, which is why she's been far nicer, and far better behaved over the last few years, because it's Yvonne who's been doing the influencing. Before Yvonne came on the scene, it was Shell who was pulling the strings. Denny got up to all sorts when Shell was giving her the nod, and you could probably even say the same for when Shaz was the guiding force, though the things they did were far less sinister. Yvonne thinks that my taking Denny to see Shell, has made Denny begin to regress into the person she was a few years ago." "And do you agree with her?" "Having talked to Denny this week, I agree that it's possible." "Darling, nobody can get it right all the time," George said quietly. "You are extremely good at your job, and everything you do is always done with the best intentions, you know that." "Is it?" Karen replied, as if she really wasn't sure. "Yes, of course it is," George told her sincerely, briefly touching her hand. "But what makes you think otherwise?" "Yvonne thinks that I've always tried to do too much for Shell, and that this might have swayed my decision to take Denny to see her." "And was she right?" George asked, sensing that they had reached the heart of the matter. "I'm not sure," Karen said quietly, after taking a sip of her wine to buy her some thinking time. "Which I suppose says it all." "Darling, listen to me," George said persuasively, moving along the bench and putting her arms round Karen. "I don't know why you've kept in touch with Shell Dockley over the last couple of years, but what I do know, is that you'll have done it for the best, most transparent of reasons. I suspect one of them is partly because of Fenner. Before Fenner was killed, when you were trying to put that case together against him, I think part of you was doing that for Shell, and for Helen, as well as for you. But, because he was killed, that little piece of justice wasn't ever served. You have a level of guilt in you about Fenner, that occasionally rivals mine about Charlie. It is entirely irrational and unfounded, but that doesn't make it any less real. You think that when Fenner was committing his string of numerous crimes, you didn't do enough to either prevent him from continuing, or to have him thoroughly investigated. You are quite open about how this makes you feel about Helen, so it is only natural that it will cause you to feel some sense of guilt for what happened to Shell. I don't agree with why you still keep in touch with Dockley, but I do understand it."
"So," Karen said eventually. "Tell me precisely what led you to that stunningly accurate piece of deduction." "Before I do," George said, taking a plunge that she hadn't been planning on. "Why don't you satisfy my curiosity about something. Does Michelle Dockley, also have a tendency to fall for smooth talking bastards?" Karen reacted immediately, pushing George away from her and moving swiftly to the very end of the bench. George could have kicked herself. What in the world had possessed her to bring that up. "I wish I'd never started this conversation," Karen said quietly, once she'd got her feelings under control, and back under her outer mask of calm efficiency. "Why," George replied knowingly. "Is that because I am trying to make you face the entirely innocent fact, that you actually have something in common with Shell Dockley? Not a nice realisation, is it. But it doesn't make any difference to the woman I know you to be. Ignoring the event of Snowball and Ritchie's trial for a moment, I knew the first time I met you, that smooth talking people were a fairly common factor in some of the more life-altering events of your existence. Fenner and Ritchie speak for themselves, as I expect does Ross's father, though you've never said very much about him." "You could say so," Karen said with a mirthless laugh. "I might have only been seventeen, but it still took him a ridiculously short time to talk me into bed." "Well, there you are then. The reason I said smooth talking people, instead of men, is that I think Yvonne must also be put into that category. It's not exactly difficult to see where her son got most of his charm from, now is it." "She wasn't the only smooth talker in that ill fated few weeks," Karen said fairly. "Because I'm just as good as anyone at turning on the charm." "Oh, don't I know it," George said with a smile. "Your particular kind of charm is very addictive." "That's what I was like with Mark," Karen said meditatively. "The poor sod didn't stand a chance. I was bored, and he was on the rebound from Gina. He left, because he knew he wasn't strong enough to deal with me after what happened with Fenner." "Darling, there is one extremely smooth talker, whom we haven't yet touched on," George said carefully, feeling that if she was going to take the plunge, she may as well play her entire hand. "There's John," George added simply, not missing Karen's immediate stiffening at his name. She showed no outward sign of her discomfort with the topic of conversation, but George could feel her tension. Knowing she was about to lull Karen into a false sense of security, George continued. "I might love John more than I will ever love anyone, but that doesn't prevent me from knowing that he still has the potential and capacity to be very much a smooth talking bastard. You know it, and I know it. He usually tries it on either Jo or me when he's done something wrong. His ability to assume a persona, whether that be intentional or otherwise, is John's main defence mechanism, as it usually is yours." "What does John have to do with my liking for smooth talking bastards?" Karen asked, wanting to escape from the topic of John as quickly as possible, though dropping herself in it in the process. "Darling, I am perfectly aware of your continuing attraction to John," George said quietly, fixing Karen with her penetrating gaze. Karen's eyes briefly widened, her face then assuming the slightly uncomfortable expression it had possessed, when Helen had wanted to know if she was having a sexual relationship with Jim Fenner. "I wouldn't ever do anything about it, not now," She said eventually, feeling more humiliated than she had done in quite a while. "I know you wouldn't," George told her, moving to put her arms round her, to show her that she trusted her implicitly where John was concerned.
When their lips met, Karen poured all her feelings of love, frustration and apology into that kiss. "So," Karen said, finally detaching her lips from George's, but keeping her arms round her. "You really think that I stay in touch with Shell Dockley, because I see too much of myself in her." "You said it, darling, not me." Inwardly cursing her far too active tongue, Karen vowed to keep more of a track on what she was about to say, especially when in the company of such a formidable cross-examiner. "But this goes back further than Fenner, doesn't it," George added quietly, her tone belying the fact that she knew she was about to unleash a tidal wave of protest. "What makes you assume such a thing?" Karen asked guardedly. "Just a thought," George said blithely. "The little fragment of evidence that does give my theory a modicum of strength," She continued slowly, "Is that not once since I've known you, have you ever spoken about your parents. It's as if they don't exist and never did." "We don't all have the highly enviable relationship with our parents, that you do with your father, George." "No, I know, and I know that I couldn't have been luckier with my father. So tell me, why do you go as far as possible to deny their existence?" "Trust me, George," Karen said very firmly. "You really don't want to go there." "And the more you strive to convince me of that, the more I think someone should." "George, can you please take no for the only answer you are going to get?" Karen said with sheer exasperation. "Yes, my father probably was the first smooth talking bastard I ever encountered, and yes, that probably has led to a lot of the things I've done over the years, but that is all you need to know. Is that clear?" "I'm glad my neighbours are away," George said nonchalantly, glancing towards the boundaries of her garden, knowing that her flippancy would drive Karen right over the edge in a moment, but also knowing that this was the only way to get her to open up. Karen's primary defence mechanism was anger. She couldn't usually allow herself to cry, so she shouted instead. "You started this line of enquiry, George, so you can put up with the consequences." "And was that something you learnt from your father," George pursued relentlessly. "Or is it something you've learnt from others, who no doubt would have themselves be described as charm personified?" Karen flinched at these words, recognising them as the description she'd given of Fenner, on the day she'd told Jo her story from beginning to end. "What do you want from me?" She asked, in the tiniest, most vulnerable voice George had ever heard from her. "I only want you to start being honest with yourself," George told her gently. "Jesus, that's rich," Karen replied scathingly. "Which is precisely why I'm saying it," George said with a smile. "Because I know I'm the last person who should." "Fine," Karen said flatly, her voice holding all the toneless quality of the sort of throwaway remark that bore no hint of consequence. "My father, in his infinitely militaristic fashion, wanted a boy, and was less than amused when he got me instead. He believed that discipline held a family together, not love, not anything resembling affection. So, if either of his women ever stepped out of line, a few harsh words, plus the occasional bruise or two, usually served to bring them back on track. I thought I could please him, by doing my nurse's training with the WRAF, but that wasn't good enough. Dennis, Ross's father, was really very similar. He was just one in a very long line of men who I thought I could win over by sleeping with them. He wasn't the first by any means, and he certainly wasn't the last. Opening my legs, appeared to be the only way I could keep anyone interested for any length of time, but they never lasted. My father was furious when he found out I was pregnant. In fact I'm surprised that I was still pregnant by the end of that particular row. He threatened to ruin Dennis's professional reputation if he didn't marry me, and believe me, he could have done if he'd wanted too. I thought that might keep him quiet for a while, but not for long. When it became clear that the marriage wasn't working, and that it wouldn't last more than a few months, he disowned me, refusing to have any contact with me, and banning my mother from also having any contact with me. She was so weak, that she let him. I tried to talk to them both, when Ross was born, but dad still didn't want to know. That was the last I heard from either of them. Mum might contact me when he dies, but I won't hold my breath."
George sat and listened to all this, wondering how Karen had managed to hide such bitterness and hurt for all these years. "Not quite what you wanted to hear, was it," Karen said after a while. "Is that why you virtually never cry?" George asked, ignoring Karen's jibe. "He always told me it was a weakness," Karen said quietly. "One of his watch phrases, was that showing any sign of vulnerability, was as good as being on the side of the enemy. So no, I don't cry, except under extremely stressful circumstances. Sometimes, it would be so easy to just let myself go, but that would mean losing control over not just my feelings, but the way I deal with them." "I'm sorry I made you tell me that," George said after another small silence, feeling that she certainly shouldn't have pressed the point in the way she had. "I know you are," Karen told her gently. "Though your methods were admirable, I must say," she added with a smirk. "Almost as devious and manipulative as the Deed himself." "I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment," George said a little nervously. "But I knew that making you angry, was the only way to persuade you to open up." "As I said, an admirable use of manipulative psychology. Helen would be proud of you." "Karen, it really isn't a weakness to cry, you know." "No, I know it's not, and I wholeheartedly support those who can do it whenever they feel it necessary. You do it far more than I ever could, and for you, that's definitely a good thing. I just don't think it would ever be for me, not as a regular coping mechanism." This time when their lips met, they neither of them wanted to stop. "Darling, I'm so sorry that you had to go through all that," George said between kisses. "Shh," Karen said softly. "Don't think about it. He'd go grey over night if he could see me now, so please, just forget about it." "Does John know?" "No, and I would like it to stay that way." Hands reached to unfasten clothing, their need being of one mind. "Are you sure your neighbours are away?" Karen asked, as they transferred their activities to the soft, springy grass. "Well, if they're not, they're about to be a little enlightened," George said matter-of-factly. It was after eleven o'clock by this time, and it felt neither wrong, nor strange for either of them to be naked on George's back lawn. Their path towards pleasure's peak was so familiar to both of them now, that their hands moved in perfect harmony, caressing nipples, sliding into moist, warm places, hungrily swallowing each other's murmurs of enjoyment. Karen could feel that she wasn't about to achieve an orgasm, but it didn't matter. Here she was, with George, in George's arms, and being made love to by George. Yes, it would definitely do her good to feel that explosive pull towards her own, personal point of flashover, but she didn't think this was going to happen tonight. Was her father still metaphorically looking over her shoulder, she wasn't sure.
When George had finally shuddered to rest, she briefly laid her head on Karen's shoulder, with her breathing gradually returning to normal. "You, didn't, come," George said between slowly decreasing gasps. "It doesn't matter," Karen told her, affectionately stroking her shoulder. "Yes, it does," George said in offended dignity. "Of course it does. What sort of lover would I be, if I didn't ensure that after a conversation like that one, you were given every opportunity to entirely relax." "That's incredibly sweet of you," Karen said, gently kissing her. "But I don't know if I'm capable of an orgasm this evening." "Is it being out here? Would you prefer to go inside?" "No," Karen reassured her. "Being out here is wonderful." "So, what might have a chance of making you release all those horribly negative feelings?" "I don't think a date with six beautiful women could do that," Karen said with a smirk. "Mmm, I can see you being part of an orgy," George said contemplatively. "Please will you give me oral?" "Of course I will," George said lasciviously. She kissed her way down until she was suckling delicately on one of Karen's nipples, whilst still keeping her hand moving in and around Karen's silky depths. After a while, Karen gently detached George's lips from her, and raised her face to meet hers. "George, please don't be offended if this doesn't work." "And it doesn't matter how long it takes," George assured her. "You just tell me what you want, and I'll do it, and if that ends up being please stop, I don't want any more, then that's fine." As George continued playing Karen's body as skilfully as she did her piano, Karen experienced a wave of fondness and gratitude for the woman who was prepared to give her so much. Simple sexual gratification might not seem a lot to some, but between her and George, it said so much more. She knew that George regretted trying to manipulate her into sharing such closely guarded confidences, and that her way of making up for this was to grant Karen's sexual wish. When she began to feel these emotions wash over her, she did achieve one thing, her first steps on the path to relaxation. George had kissed her way down her body now, and was lying between her legs, sweeping her tongue languorously around Karen's entrance. When George felt the initial quiver from Karen's body, she thought that her ministrations might just be working. Karen always tasted so gloriously sweet, that she wondered how she could ever have been afraid of trying it. She thrust her tongue into Karen's entrance as far as possible, using her soft button of a nose to rub against Karen's clit. "Christ almighty, George, you should be made illegal," Karen said, her breath quickening. With her mouth otherwise engaged, George softly laughed. Karen cried out when George's firm, full lips began nibbling on her clit, sending sparks of electricity arcing through her entire body. George didn't attempt to introduce her hands into what she was doing, except to occasionally tease Karen's nipples, because her mouth was all that was needed to finally push Karen over the edge. When George finally moved back up to look into Karen's face, she could see the trace of tears on her cheeks, given away by the slightly smudged mascara. "I needed that so much," Karen said, her voice betraying the force of her emotions. She could taste herself on George's lips, and she knew that she couldn't have a more sexually satisfying, more affectionate, or more loving woman. If only she could say those words, I love you, but this was the one sentiment that would never be expressed between them. Was this the story of her life, to either only hear those words spoken with false intentions, or never to hear them at all? She didn't know. But she loved George, more than she'd thought she loved Fenner, more than she'd loved Yvonne, if what she'd felt for Yvonne could ever have been called love, more than anyone she'd ever had in her life. She longed to say those three little words, to really tell this woman what she felt for her, but it wasn't to be. It was left to her to show her feelings instead of articulating them, purposefully adopting the course of action that John was always being persuaded to abandon. As they later lay cuddled up in George's bed, they held each other close, as only the most tender of lovers do, exchanging through fond caresses if not by words, how much they cared for each other. No one else was present in that bed, not John, not Yvonne, and not even Jo. This night was for them, and them alone. They still hadn't finished the conversation about Shell and about Denny, and about why Karen felt guilty for her first professional mistake as a Governing Governor, but when they were lying snuggled under the duvet, none of this seemed to matter.