Part Fifty-Two
Getting dressed in the morning in a leisurely fashion was the one occasion in his life when John could let his mind run free and away from the immediate day-to-day preoccupations of his life. He had that tidy minded grip of time that allowed him to move quietly around in an apparently unflappable manner. He had recently taken to allotting himself time to contemplate where he stood in the world, not his work and not his nearest and dearest but himself. For that reason, his birthday seemed to be as an appropriate occasion as any. He could not guess what impulse put that into his mind but his lifestyle tended him to give way to it. Surprisingly, he did not look too closely at the birthday cards as he had decided that this could wait till later.
As he fastidiously shaved to achieve that state of perfection, his face stared back at him. Thankfully, it did not look any different to last year as fortune allowed his face not to get appreciably more lined and only made him look more distinguished and attractive to the eye. His hair, though graying, was still as thick as before with that obstinate grip on him as he had on life itself. Everything was in order. It was only that his life had changed inwardly. He assembled the facts in his mind like laying out a set of playing cards and dealt himself his hand, straight off the top of the pack in no particular order. He remembered that by then he had a date set for the Atkins trial, one which he had viewed with a certain amount of trepidation, more so than any other trial. The reason, as he asked himself at the time, was because he, George and Jo knew too much about the case even before the news of the killing had become public property. Nevertheless, in his considered judgment, he had handled the case with all the care and compassion, which he knew he was capable of. Of considerable satisfaction to himself was his prominent part in the rehearsals for and the triumphant performance of 'The Creation." He was surely not being immodest in describing how he had gently steered that individual array of surprising talents that went into that masterpiece.
There was more to last year than these very public events, he had to admit to himself. Stray thoughts had a habit of popping up out of the blue much more frequently than they used to, like burglars into his conscious mind. He knew more than ever that he had to let them in, for good or ill. Before, the question would never have arisen. His mouth shaped the first proposition as his shaver made sure of the smoothness of skin over his cheekbone. If it had not been for this last year, George and Karen would not have become lovers, that in the aftermath of the breakup of that relationship, he would not have looked on helplessly while Karen, with reckless abandon, rescued Denny from off the rooftop of Larkhall prison and in some circuitous fashion, he had come to sleep with her at that disastrous night at a conference. That had started out no differently than any other conference he had been to where both he and some available woman acted with the full knowledge of exactly what they were doing and what the consequences would be. This time, he ruefully admitted, he really had not known exactly what he had been getting into, in the one area he had felt safe. So many women had entered and reentered his life that year, he reflected, sheering away from those uncomfortable memories. Amongst that extraordinarily steadfast group of women from both sides of the prison bars was Helen, that strong resolute woman, who held the cards of his destiny here in her shapely hands, who was here both to rescue him and to test his sense of identity to the limit. His head swam with the changes that had taken place in his life. He finally concluded that he knew more about his place in the world and was less confident of it than before, a double-edged gift but one, which he was destined to carry. The only thing he was sure of was that he could hardly discard it as casually as he used to discard any number of his former conquests.
As if to the rescue, the memory of the conversations he's exchanged with George the previous night. That cheered up his rather flagging spirits.
"Jo and I are determined that we shall give you a birthday present I promise that you won't forget in a hurry. Nor will Jo if I can help it. You're both coming round to my house. We've got everything arranged"
"It's good to hear such dedication and enthusiasm." John had smiled, as this very enticing fantasy was promising to be very delightfully consummated in flesh and blood.
"That's one way of describing it." George answered in her most arch drawl before becoming more businesslike. "Anyway, Jo is coming round to help me cook the dinner but you come round at eight and not before."
John permitted himself a nostalgic smile as George's voice brought back fond memories. This was always her style during their marriage in organising their social life. His drifting thought then recalled that Jo was also in the relationship and, with an act of conscious unselfishness, considered that George's relationship with Jo was as important as his relationship was with Jo and George. He had to admit that this was not the way he had always felt. It felt a long time ago when he and Jo and George and Karen were supposedly watching TV together while Joe Channing had gone out leaving the not so young ones together. They had promptly paired off but not quite oblivious of each other. The extra special sexual spicing was John's voyeuristic interest in Karen's and George's sexual foreplay and supposedly being supposedly the sexual sophisticate in comparison with Jo. That scenario had been spun around so that John had to deal with the pangs of
incipient abandonment as, surely, neither of them needed him any more. It had taken him a long time to be convinced of their love for him.
He was barely conscious of the razor buzzing in his hand. John wasn't really here in his flat on Tuesday December 6th 2005. In reality, he had been somewhere up to a year back in time if not longer. As his vision sharpened, he saw his face and, yes, he would still just about be ready in time for the next court case.
"Just remember, John." Jo called out. "You come round at eight and we'll be ready for you"
"So George told me." Came the patient reply.
"…..and happy birthday." John strained his ears to pick out the words as Jo's voice trailed off as she revved up her car and to shoot off into the distance.
George had only just got in from court and had just started to look round her kitchen to organise the meal when the doorbell rang which signaled Jo's arrival. She sighed to herself at Jo's punctuality when what she wanted was time to prepare herself for the invasion of her kitchen. The distinct prospect of not one but two extra bodies in her bed fazed George not at all. The danger of an intrusion into the private space of her kitchen was something that was already making her twitchy. The order in which she placed the Spice jars in its rack were hers to decide, not some well meaning blundering intruder even if you did sleep with her. She greeted Jo with her biggest smile and a hug and a kiss and gritted her teeth for what she must endure.
"I'm ready to help out, George. You show me the way to the kitchen"
"Of course, darling"
Jo ran her eyes over George's immaculate kitchen. Except for what had been set out already, it was obviously kept in spotless order and made her own kitchen look decidedly informal, not to say cluttered and disorganised. It was her way and it worked, so she defended herself from the invisible critic. Everyone had been fed over the years, including two temperamental teenage boys. This was clearly not George's approach and she became a little apprehensive.
"How can I help out, George"
The other woman took a deep breath, wondering which part of the operation that she jealously kept to herself could be safely delegated. Her need to control tussled for battle with the need to spread the load before the appointed hour when John called.
"Well………if you don't mind giving me a hand with preparing the potatoes and the spinach"
"Sure." Jo said with aplomb before leaving it that fatal three seconds before asking a follow up question.
"Er, George, I don't suppose you could tell me where you keep the potato peeler"
Jo was quite willing to be dogsbody and look for it herself if George told her where but, instead, the other woman made a surprisingly rapid lunge for the top drawer, rattled about in the drawer and passed it to her.
"Thanks, George."
While George attacked the preparation of the duck in spirited fashion, Jo quietly prepared her part of the meal in an unhurried fashion. Eventually, George put the duck in the oven and the saucepanful of potatoes to part boil. While everything was cooking, Jo plucked up her courage to make her next helpful suggestion.
"What else are we having, George"
"My favourite orange sauce, which I'll make myself." George said very decidedly.
"I might as well set the table if you tell me where everything is." Jo asked with elaborate casualness.
George was caught up in a real dilemma that was clearly visible on her face. Jo could clearly tell how nervous she was of anyone daring to go five yards of the holies of holies and she could imagine the utter precision with which they were stored. If she hadn't picked up on the tension that was radiating off her in waves, the way she fidgeted with her hands indecisively was an obvious giveaway.
"I suppose that two pairs of hands are better than one. You'll find the best plates in the second shelf from the top left hand of the cupboard and all the cutlery is in"
George rattled out the instructions at express speed and at great length that made Jo's head spin. She coped as best she could and, even after a day's work. Jo managed to bluff her way through by reasoning backwards as to where George would keep certain items so that she could pretend that she'd remembered everything George had told her. Even then, she was highly conscious that George kept shooting glances out of the corner of her eye to check how Jo was getting on. After a while, the oven started to announce delicious cooking smells while George hovered intently over the cooker. The sink started to collect what would have been the advance guard of the monstrous wave of pots, pans, plates and cutlery to be washed up if it weren't for her dishwasher.
They worked together silently for what seemed a long while until Jo broke the silence.
"Shall I make the pudding"
George stretched her back and smiled more comfortably. They had accomplished what she set out for them to do in very short order and it was clear that they would have time on their hands before John arrived.
"No problem, Jo. I made it last night and kept it the fridge to set. All it needs is whipped cream on top"
Intrigued, Jo walked over to the fridge and, in a cut glass bowl, saw some delicious homemade decorated chocolate mousse. She stuck out a finger to pinch a taste of it only George slapped her hand away from it very playfully.
"Don't touch, Jo, not for the moment anyway. If you're very patient, who knows what we could do with it later."
"Is that a promise, George?" Jo questioned with a slight smirk on her face, suddenly acting her age again.
"I always keep my promises, Jo." George responded with her best sensual drawl.
John had spent his time in a leisurely fashion and had carefully pondered which of his smart suits he should wear and the precise selection of white shirts. He had carefully studied all his birthday cards. His only family who sent a card was his sister in Coventry, which was an unpleasant reminder that, on his fifty sixth birthday, the ranks of uncles and aunts had thinned out drastically over the years and any distant cousins were, well, conspicuous by their distance especially on his birthday. Every other card was from friends and acquaintances but the cards from George and Jo were the most precious to him. In a contemplative mood, he presented himself on George's doorstep and was gratified to be greeted, not by one pair of female arms and a kiss but with two.
"I'm not too early, am I?" He asked.
Jo had to hand it to George that her reply sounded as utterly convincing as was her dazzling smile of greeting.
"Why, John darling, your sense of timing is immaculate"
"Happy birthday, John." Came Jo's simple response. "I think I might have said that before but you might not have heard me."
John stood hesitating for a second but George, the mistress of ceremonies, gestured to John to take his place in the dining room.
"I just about heard you as you drove away"
George shut the door behind her and her eyes swiveled to what she could visualise was happening in the kitchen and drifted over to the dining table where she discreetly and minutely adjusted the positions of the nearest knives and forks. She surveyed her territory with an all seeing eye and declared it perfect in her mind.
"How does your birthday feel to you, John"
"I was just thinking over the changes since this time last year, one year older and hopefully wiser but knowing there's so much more to know in a year than I ever thought possible." John's ruminative tone proceeded slowly. A flavour of his thoughts first thing in the morning came back to haunt him.
"That sounds unusually humble and philosophical for you"
"I just know that I know a lot less about life than I thought I did"
"All this philosophising about life may be frightfully interesting but we're serving dinner in ten minutes time, Jo." George's voice hailed Jo clearly through the dining room wall with that authentic dominance. "You're to sit down, John, unless you want to uncork the champagne."
Smilingly, Jo retired discreetly and, while John popped the cork of the bottle, George and Jo brought in the dinner on silver platters.
It was now that George became expansive in her manner as the pressure was off her. The plates were served with neatly cut slivers of roast duck, little fried potatoes and artistically arranged spinach with an old favourite of his, orange sauce which John remembered nostalgically from the happier days of their marriage. The mellow atmosphere was helped by the way that the December evening had drawn in quickly. George had lit three candles in their gleaming silver holders and the warm glow cast a feeling of intimacy on the three of them. Truly, George arranged social affairs to perfection and after her initial bout of nerves, the other side of her came out, utterly charming and magnetic.
"To John." George toasted them, clinking her champagne glass musically against John and Jo's.
"To all of us." John neatly corrected them.
"Yes, that's right." Smiled George with a long sideways glance at Jo.
The meal passed off in that easy companionable manner which made John feel utterly at home, and it was fitting that Jo was with him as George was. Sometimes one or the other had shared birthdays but never both at the same time. As for George and Jo, the warm feeling of pleasure in each other's company cast an enchantment over the occasion. George had relaxed so much that she was content to leave the pile of washing up in the kitchen. That could be sorted out whenever. Nothing mattered than that feeling of intimacy between the three of them and all three of them knew full well that none of them were going anywhere else, not tonight, as the three of them cuddled up on the settee, sipping the last of the champagne.
A good while later when they eventually went up to bed, George couldn't help but wonder if she really was in the mood for this. "As it's your birthday, darling," She said, solicitously removing his tie. "Your wish is our command." "And given the infrequency of your saying that to me," He teased her gently. "I must of course make full use of it." "As if we'd expect any different from you," Jo told him blithely. "Then in that case," John said silkily. "I would give anything to see you two together." "How did I guess," George said with a fond smile. Flicking the small stereo on the dressing table onto some softly haunting though utterly romantic music, John sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room. As he relaxed back in the chair, watching both of his beautifully proportioned women beginning to dance, he thought that he couldn't possibly be happier. As they moved languorously in time to the subtly flowing music, they began slowly removing each other's clothes, making John briefly wonder if they'd choreographed this in advance. Only when they were both entirely naked did they move over to the bed, hands languidly wandering, both of them trying to keep John's lingering gaze in mind. George immediately took the guiding role, gently pushing Jo onto her back, her hands moving over her skin as she kissed her. John couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. They hadn't made love all three of them together very often, but he had always been previously involved, whereas now he was being given the most erotic display imaginable. George's hands were everywhere, expertly teasing every erogenous zone she could find. Having had her hands on his own body far more times than he could ever remember, John felt that he could probably estimate just how good that was for Jo. George nibbled her way down until she was suckling on Jo's right nipple, making John's eyes widen in response. Should that really look as incredible as it did, he wondered? He shifted his position slightly, his trousers becoming noticeably tighter the more he saw. George's right hand was moving between Jo's slightly spread legs now, with John alternating between loving his side-on view, and wanting to be part of it. But when George began kissing her way down Jo's body, John waited in almost unbearable anticipation for what he knew must be coming. Jo gasped as George's tongue swept over her sensitive flesh, finally beginning to lose her cool in this slightly odd situation. She would never have thought of herself as one to enjoy an audience, but knowing that John was sitting literally feet from her, watching them do this, gave her a feeling of supreme naughtiness that she knew she'd never felt before. She could feel that her nipples were painfully hard by now, and that George was hungrily taking in every morsel of sexual secretion she had to offer. When Jo came, her whole body spasmed, as she gripped a handful of pillow, digging her nails into the material to prevent herself from screaming. George's lips removed everything Jo had to give, after which she balanced upright on her knees, and beckoned John towards her.
Neither of them wanted to ruin the mood of Jo's clearly powerful orgasm, so neither of them spoke. When John rose from the chair and approached his wayward little minx, she pulled him down towards her, kissing him with a fervour that almost tumbled him down onto the bed with them. God, to taste Jo's essence on George's lips, it was amazing. Of all the weird and wonderful sexual acts he had taken part in, this was by far the most erotic. Jo's taste on George's soft, sensual, undoubtedly female lips made him want to thrust himself inside either one or both of them right now. George laughed huskily as she tenderly cupped his erection through his trousers. "I think you're wearing a little too much, darling. Don't you?" Taking the very last of Jo's familiar taste from her, John swiftly began removing his clothes. "It always amazed me how you manage to do that so quickly," Jo said a little drowsily. "He's had plenty of practice," George replied mockingly, as John moved round to her side of the bed, making her alter her position so that she could keep track of his movements. The look in his eye was entirely predatory, the gleam of intention clear for her to see. Had she not known John as well as she did, she might in that fleeting moment of expectation have been ever so slightly frightened of him. He was as firmly raised for the down beat as her baton had been back in April. Moving to the other side of the bed to encourage his claiming of her, she exchanged a look with Jo, asking if this was all right, and receiving a smile in return. When John slid onto the bed and took her in his arms, she could feel the need in him as though it was being exuded through every one of his pores. When he began touching her, Jo turned onto her side to join in, both of them touching her everywhere in order to arouse her thoroughly. When John finally sank his length deep inside her with a groan, he also slid a gently seeking hand between Jo's legs, wanting her to enjoy this as much as he was going to. Jo's hand crept between their writhing bodies, seeking out George's clitoris, wanting to maximise her pleasure. Perhaps this was when George realised that her earlier misgivings had been justified. Her body was to some extent aroused, but her mind simply couldn't accompany it on the path towards pleasure's peak. She writhed expertly underneath John, wanting to make this the best birthday he'd ever had. She kept her face slightly turned away from him, knowing that her eyes were always her downfall in revealing her true feelings. She began to gasp most realistically when she felt that John was nearing his climax, crying out at his point of completion as though she had joined him in their quest for release.
A good while later when they were settling down to sleep, George was in the middle, with Jo on her left and John on her right. She turned onto her side to face John, and seeming to know that she wished to hide, he cuddled her against his chest. She could feel in this one, simple gesture that he knew what she'd done, but then she didn't really expect anything else. She had faked her orgasm mainly for Jo's benefit, because this was all still so new to her, and what she didn't need was any uncertainty about George's feeling towards the situation. She felt Jo cuddle up behind her, and suddenly began to feel very safe, and incredibly cared for lying between them like this. "Happy birthday," George said sleepily to John. "I love you both," He said in reply, dropping a gentle kiss onto George's lips, and giving Jo's hand a squeeze.