The sun shone through the window of Kristine Thorne office in the tower block at the University of London and a soft wind blew at the wind chimes which played a strangely etherial melody. For such a simple device, it epitomised something about the remarkable woman in that it went a long way in extending its abstract art. She was aged 35, bisexual, and six years ago she completed her PhD. It was a formidably combined doctorate of Education and Criminology as an extention to the question of her Master's dissertation which was "Does giving prisoners an education decrease their chance of reoffending?" She had studied cases of those who have reoffended, to see what type of education they either did or didn't receive whilst they were in custody on previous occasions, in order to construct an idea as to what type of provision of education /rehabilitation might have prevented their subsequent reoffending. In addition to this, she had already gained the right to haul the M.A. and B.A academic titles after her name, having been teaching Education studies at the UL since starting her MA at the age of 23.
All this had gone a long way to validating her strong desire to succeed which was part of her wider goal of self-realisation. She liked a vast range of music She had once, sung with her school chamber choir at the Albert Hall for Cancer Research's 75th birthday concert, obtained grade 8 in flute and singing at the age of 18 and went skiing 3 times whilst at secondary school. All these accomplishments were known to her circle of friends who were also inclined to say as an afterthought that she was totally blind and had long since learned to get her way around with the aid of a guide dog called Jules. All this gave her grounds for satisfaction as all her energies had created the position she now found herself in.
She'd kept a tight circle of friends from her schooldays at a boarding school for blind and partially sighted pupils. Her research over the years would never permit her to draw parallels between this school that she'd lived in and prisons she'd visited, especially a dangerous two weeks working undercover for a research project but she couldn't deny the reality of a faint ghost resemblance. In both institutions, there was a level of camarederie that in her case meant that ties amongst her friends were surprisingly durable no matter how far afield their paths took them. Through Nikki's follow-up study on Larkhall Prison, she'd made enduring friendships with the liberal legal establishment especially with the different attrctions of George Channing and John Deed, the latter of whom was her occasional lover. All in all, there was much that she could be satisfied with in her life. Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind and she picked up her phone.
Today happened to be a middling to fair day for John when the phone rang. The sleek, black rectangular shape had become his lifeline with a long list of friends, professional contacts, casual acquaintances and sometime lovers. They might constitute his social circle whose existence kept him centred and satisfied and to whom he gave out his stimulating and interesting personality. However, he felt worryingly disconnected right now as he'd been sipping his drink one morning in the judges' digs. He looked around at the old-fashioned but comfortable surroundings and morosely wondered if that description applied to him as well. He was on his own but he'd never been bothered about being at odds with superficial trends and had ploughed his own furrow instead. social isolation like this was starting to get to him as time went on and he got older.
Suddenly, the ringing sound cut through his meditations after a few rings. When he reached for his mobile, he grinned to himself. It was precisely the intervention he'd needed.
"Hi, it's Kristine. I thought I'd phone you and ask how you're going on seeing that I've not been around for a while," the light attractive voice sounded in his ear
"All the better to hear from you Kristine as otherwise life tends to be a bit dull and predictable at times. What brings you back to this part of the world?" John replied in brisk, warm-hearted tones.
"I haven't been away John darling. I've been around here and there. You know what I'm like," came the teasing reply.
"Well, you're here now," John said after a distinct pause. Kristine picked up the intonation behind the words and knew she had to get her next words right.
"I've got a wide circle of friends and you're definitely one of them," she said with kind and tender emphasis.
This did the trick. John knew that his friend had affairs with women as well as men but he paid this no mind. He'd had his share of casual affairs over the years but when she was with him, she was wholly for him.
"I'm sure you have something in mind Kristine. You usually do," came his brioght and breezy reply which made Kristine laugh. Until she'd phoned, she'd half forgotten the man's rich and sonorous voice and she loved it all over again. This reminded her why her choice of bisexuality wasn't a temporary halfway house but a deliberate choice between the two ends of the spectrum.
"I've just discovered this gorgeous restaurant I want to try out. Needless to say, it's not just the food but the ambiance and who better than you to share it with?"
That cheered John right up. Now he thought about it, he had been depressed earlier on but things were different now. His earlier mood was simply a clinically observed fact of life.
On the face of it, Frances Myers had accomplished her career leap when she moved from Larkhall Prison to area management seven years ago as the sprawling interconnected edifice was the surest way of effortlessly moving up the career escalator. She's proved herself in heading up disciplinery investigations and project work so that she was now entrusted with prison office budget allocations, surely a position of power and control. She rapidly found out that this was not the case, especially as the mantra from above was to tighten belts and live within your means.
Her thoughts naturally gravitated to the identikit junior ministers she'd seen who had come and gone, all of them coming swanning around with aides in tow and mouthing the words his top civil servants have written for him. She smiled cynically as she recalled the Very Important Person who'd visited. She could picture him in his smart dark suit, white shirt and tie and accompanied by the usual fawning bag carrier. He'd acted as if he were the lord of creation and everyone was there to serve his needs. It was Neil bloody Haughton himself. She'd idly wondered after he'd exchanged a limp handshake with her what the man did outside the hours of work, did he go down the local pub and stand his round like a normal guy did. Then there were those those treasury type bastards swore blind with a straight face never existed. She had long tried to understand the way that those men's minds functioned and figured out that they must get their kicks from denying people to a major extent. Christ knows what they were like in bed, she wondered. In one idle surreal moment, she supposed that they must measure out their sperm very anxiously or alternatively that they must be a dead loss between the sheets. It partly explained why she learnt to keep her options open, especially as her one supposedly great love, a solicitor she'd hooked up with when she was in the police force, cheated on her years ago with her own sister of all people.
Enough of this sexual distraction, she swore to herself and her brow became furrowed as she dragged her mind back to contemplate the budget she had been allocated from above. She took a quick glance at the breakdown of resources and she threw down her pen as she figured out that this was several steps too far. It was only after she lit a calming cigarette and had idly cross checked the figures when she realised that they didn't add up. A broad grin spread over her face when she realised that this gave her the opportunity to push the discrepancies to her advantage. She'd also got to know pretty quickly never to accept the first figures as there were ways of squeezing out improvements from obscure contingency funds that needed to be hunted down. She started reaching out to like-minded friends to find out this information who knew that she'd return the favour. She'd come across those who jealously guarded their budgets and secrets in a tight-arsed fashion and knew in two seconds flat not to deal with them.
Finally, the major chunk of her day's work was done and she spent the rest of the day chatting to those who worked for her in the main office. She'd never forgotten her years in Larkhall Prison which had tauight her both to be self-sufficient and know who her friends were. She'd gone underground to worm out information on Natalie Buxton, that evil sex trade trafficker who looked and sounded like Olivia Newton-John. She'd been on her own with only Neil Grayling's benevolent long distance assistance and had survived it. If you can cope with that, she'd reasoned to herself, you can cope with anything.
At the end of the day, Frances took her leave, slid slowly down the antiseptic lift towards the wide staff entrance, complete with securiity guards and turnstiles and at last she was free. As she made her way to the car park, she smiled to herself at the thought that her career move had been the tipping point in termsw of her sexuality. Being more centrally based in London was it the case that feminine charms had finally seeped their way into her consciousness. This was ironic after being immune from them all the time she'd worked at Larkhall Prison. Whispered allegations about Selena Geeson's private life had been as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope.
Just why her wayward eye was attracted to her various lovers had taken Frances a lot of thinking about in retrospect as they were very diverse on the surface. Originally, she'd been attracted to smooth, hard men who'd been a match for her own forceful personality. It was when she looked closer that her newfound choice of attractive blondes made her realise that it was the boldness in their gaze and softness in their souls that attracted her. As time went on, she realized that all of them had a mixture of strength and sympathy in their personalities. With her newfound ability to look below surface impressions, she realised that all her life's experiencesd had set her up for Kristine Thorne when she'd become mature enough to appreciate her. It also meant that her description of John Deed had aroused her curiosity. All these thoughts swam around in her consciousness as she drove past the automatic barrier and headed off back to her ultra modern third floor flat.
As soon as Frances got home, she knocked up a healthy salad with a sprinkling of specialities and sat back, a glass of wine in her hand. As she took it easy, her plate, knife and fork resting on her tinted glass table, she contemplated her prospects for the night. She could find a nearby pub where some attractive stud might catch her eye or alternatively she could head on over to Chix where perfumed fairer charms were in abundance. However, she'd spent a physically satisfying but exhausting night with Kristine last night so she finally decided that peace and quiet would fit the bill. Whatever she wanted would be out there whenever she wanted it.
At that moment, Kristine and John Deed were sitting at the opposite sides of a cosy dining table for two at the restaurant of her choice and it was everything that was promised. Twinkling lights and very soft, slightly jazzy music wove its magic spell while Jules settled himself in a strategic position to snaffle any accidentally dropped morsels. The subdued light shone on Kristine's slightly auburn hair and John's freshly trimmed slightly greying hair. As the evening continued in its leisurely, relaxed fashion, Kristine couldn't help noticing John's cheerfulness from the tone of his voice and his blithe manner as he told her of various anecdotes.
"I'm going to one of those periodic judge's bashes on a week on Saturday. It's one of those traditional affairs where anyone with any sensibilities wonders what are they doing there after the first half hour," John held forth breezily. Something didn't ring true to Kristine and she spoke the first words that came to her mind.
"So why do they continue? I mean, why are you really going?" she asked, placing her glass of Pimms back on the table.
"Sheer inertia. I've always gone even years ago when I was marginalised as the 'baker's boy.' "
The arch emphasis further jarred Kristine's sensibilities It demanded gentle probing.
"Oh, that goes a long way back. My father was a proud, self-respecting baker and we lived in a council house in a Birmingham suburb. I went to Oxford on a scholarship and I wasn't as polished as the other students- as I am now. I had to make compromises to fit in so I could win the space later on so I didn't compromise in the areas of life which most matter."
Beneath the light joking tones, Kristine felt the early pain which had been overlaid by success and acceptance on his terms. This was a remarkable achievement but the wound had only been partially healed.
"I know what it's like going to an alien institution. I picked up a slight Liverpool accent from my first school which stuck out like a sore thumb when I went to boarding school.. It was the price I paid. I've never dwelt on it. After all, I've ended up with what I've ever wanted most out of life," she said confidently enough.
This cheered John right up had to admit to himself that he'd not been quite all here on what should be a special happening for him. Here he was, with a strikingly intelligent woman on his side whose original outlook on life and her stately manner was more attractive than the conventional good looks of his casual pickups.
"Then I will go to the bash, be myself and damn the lot of them if they don't like me or my friends," he replied with convincing confidence.
This time, Kristine knew that John meant what he said and wasn't buoying up a shaky sense of self-belief with easy words and false bravadfo.
"And in the meantime, darling you're not really there but here," she said solicitously. She knew that his slightly faraway manner had faded as he was fully placed in the moment.
"You and I have known each other for a long time Kristine," he said tenderly and she knew that he was quite rightly referring to the intimate exchange of feelings and ideas that had threaded their way through the past few years. It was now that he realised with a self-deprecating laugh that the main dish was in danger of getting cold even while the soft lights gently glittered in harmony with them. Kristine of course read his thoughts straightaway.
Everything felt perfect in John's world as he lay next to Kristine in the comforting dusk in the sanctuary of her double bed. Somehow, the reassuring sense of familiarity was like nowhere else he'd ever been no matter how far his wanderings had taken him over the years to women's flats. He never wanted to selfishly lay claim to it which came with the territory of conventional couples. Her knew that Kristine would never have allowed it anyway. As always, when John had entered the flat, he had looked approvingly at her bookcase full of DVDs, audiobooks and braille books on the bottom shelf and the relatively small television in the corner. Everything felt right and proper, he half murmured to himself as he lay back on his side, Kristine's arms wrapped around him.
"So what's on your mind John? I'm curious," a very soft, musical voice sounded in his ear.
"Just how happy and content I feel right now. I can't think of any other woman who'd ask this question right now and get a straight answer from me," John said instantly, placing his hand against hers.
Kristine laughed gently. She'd talked in the past to Helen and Nikki and knew that she was reaping the rewards of their friendly efforts to break down his walls. She'd never tell John this but he was probably her most accomplished male lover she'd ever known, considering the stiff competition he was unknowingly up against. Now she came to think of it, his questioning intelligence and maturity were an irresistable combination together with the way he carried his worldly success lightly. There was something comfortable about the way they'd approached the bed and how he'd grown used to her insistance on undressing and making love with the light off. Similarly, Jules greeted him warmly and had accommodated himself to a familiar human being who knew his ways.
"You know I never give up once my curiosity is roused," she replied with gentle amusement. That might as well be written on my tombstone, John thought as he laughed softly.
"Kristine, I'd never claim to know everything about you but I know that much about you," John answered softly with a mood change that his lover followed easily enough. A surge of tenderness flowed through her system as she saw this man let down his most preciously preserved safeguard right in front of her.
"I know one thing about you, John Deed. You're the second most inquisitive person I've ever met after me of course yet I know you'll respect my wishes in not seeing me undressed. Come here sweetheart."
John was acutely aware of the mingled affection and desire that spread through John's system and he turned himself round to receive his lover's embrace, or such a woman that was at least with him tonight. it was strange, he thought in an abstract moment, that he had grown to accept Kristine's physical presence in the dark much in the same way that she lived her whole life. He ruefully considwered that she was much more advanced in her years of depthsw of perceptions in living in a world without sight or colour yet she'd negotiated life's demands with admirable ease. It was in such a mood thar he was with his twin soul that he pleasurably entered her and knew that their lovemaking would be both tender, satisfying yet not egotistical for them both.