CHAPTER THREE
Christine eyed the little white cake. The marzipan icing was smooth as silk.
She did not trust Delia's cooking. But maybe… just maybe… it wouldn't explode in her mouth.
"I promise you, this time, I did not overcook it." Delia sounded sweet and persuasive.
"I'm not so sure."
"Oh, give me a chance!"
They both laughed.
"Delia was reasonably well-behaved," said her mother Florie. "She did not talk too much whilst making it. Maybe, just maybe, it might pass muster."
"Fine. I'll dare."
Christine bit into it. "Ah, you're getting there," she said with satisfaction. "Not really all that bad. Nice and moist."
"Then I can compete with the rest of you," sighed Delia. "I'm sick of my cakes being measly explosions of yuckiness."
Christine and Florie both laughed. "You paid attention for once, this time," said Florie. "So you've finally produced something palatable."
They were at Reg Turley's house next door. Reg ran a little club for his friends. Every Thursday they all came here to socialize, play games, and tease each other.
Christine loved being here. Right now, Reg and Dennis were laying the tables for whist and backgammon. Members of their club lounged around the parlour. Nettie, Patricia, Max, and the other remarkable people. Christine had belonged to this group for quite some time now.
There were about eighteen of them. They gathered here every Thursday. The men loved facing off over their games. The girls, meanwhile, gossiped. And did crafts together, and compared their work. And showed off their cooking!
Erik went to join the men. He partnered himself with Ignatius, Reg's gangly seventeen-year-old son. Iggy's humble manner was deceptive. When put together, he and Erik were unbeatable.
Christine and the girls had a lot of work to do. They all helped her, now, with her charity. They'd really taken to making items for her customers. Several of them were working with yarn right now.
Christine sat with Nettie. Since she's first arrived in England, Nettie had been her great friend. Nettie was a former dancer, just like her, and a fun and licentious spirit. Nettie worked hard for the charity, but they also found plenty of time to chat.
With them was Nettie's daughter Patricia. Patricia was getting very frustrated with knitting. "I hate this," she moaned. "I've done a terrible job with these socks."
Nettie laughed. "Patty, knitting is a good skill to have. I hoped you would take to it."
"No, I can't do this!"
"Go off and do your origami then."
Patricia sighed with relief. She turned back to the little paper village she was making. Erik had encouraged her to excel at this Japanese craft, and she loved it.
"By the way," said Nettie, "did you hear what Reg said before?"
"Yes!" Christine felt a quick thrill. "So, he's got this friend in Norway! Who lives in a huge villa. And we might all be going away to stay there?"
"Yes! This year, in spring."
Christine was elated. Norway was so close to her birthplace. She was from Sweden. And she had not been up that way for a long, long time.
Reg had told her about his friend, Tor Hansen. Tor had been born in England but was half Norwegian. He had grown up a bit of a naughty boy, like Reg had himself.
Hansen was clever. He'd been the mastermind of a huge heist. However, he'd almost been caught red-handed. So, he'd had to flee the country. He'd had no other choice.
Tor was now repentant. Like Reg, and all the men in this group… including Erik, Christine admitted… he was a reformed criminal. He now lived quietly in a home rented from his uncle. He missed his birth country, and his old friends, terribly.
"How could Tor house us all?" said Christine. "There's five in his family. How could he fit us all in?"
"Oh, it's a huge house. And he has self-contained cottages on the estate, too. It's a sprawling place, backing onto the Norwegian woods," said Nettie excitedly. "We will go boating on the fjords."
"That sounds nice." Christine felt a quick flush of pleasure. She was quite emotional.
Nettie looked at her questioningly.
"Christine… does this feel very major to you?"
"Yes," said Christine distantly. She did not know if she'd ever go back to Sweden, where she was born. But this was certainly stirring memories.
"What was the last time you were in Scandinavia?"
"Many, many years ago. When I was just a girl. With my… father."
"Well… I will be so glad to see you in your natural environment."
"So will I," grinned Christine.
In time, the men finished their games. Everyone had eaten way too many cakes. Reg ordered some more coffee, and looked at his watch.
"I feel like… some music," he announced.
Christine had known this part of the night would come. It always did. When her and Erik were asked to get up and show off.
"I guess you expect us to work," said Erik.
"Yes. We do."
"I know we work you hard," said Madge, smiling. "But where will we be without you?"
Erik was always composing. For him, it was like a diary. And he had a new song.
Christine had only had to glance over it briefly. She was pretty good with sheet music now. And her husband could teach her in a flash.
Erik played the first notes on his violin. Then he sang in his searing, emotional tenor voice. It was just his thoughts for the day. Which he had moulded into a very affecting story.
After the first verse, Christine joined him. Her soprano was the perfect fit for him. She had an extraordinary range, and a voice of unusual purity. Together they were magic.
They knew each other so well. Nettie said that was never captured better than when they were in song. Christine knew how to match Erik's every nuance.
There was a time when Erik had struggled to express his deepest thoughts and feelings in conversation. However, he always had been able to in music. It was his favourite language. And it was how Christine had first realized she'd loved him.
The essence of his soul was shown through his song. When she sang with him, she forgot time and space. Erik was better than her. Christine thought so, anyway. But the truth was… their voices blended perfectly.
Erik and Christine came to the end of their ballad. There were soft exclamations around the room.
"Divine," said Max softly. "You excelled yourself with that little piece."
"That?" said Erik, smiling. "It was just a whinge."
"That's how it started," giggled Christine. "He was grumbling to me. Then, he sat down and he wrote that song."
Everyone laughed.
"Well, I rather liked that whinge," said Florie. "Made me tingle. Gorgeous!"
Later on, they got out the wine. Jokes were flying thick and fast. But Christine knew Erik wanted to talk privately with her.
"Norway," he whispered.
"Yes. Norway."
Christine was very excited about it. However, she knew Erik was thinking what she was thinking.
In France, they were both wanted people. And if they went to the Continent, wouldn't that make them a little bit vulnerable?
"They won't get us," said Erik. "They can't possibly. Not in Norway."
"Are you sure?"
"We can evade them."
Christine was not entirely sure. But she wanted to go so badly. How could she pass up the chance to return to Scandinavia?
For the rest of the group, it was old hat. Tor had been living there for a while. They had visited him again and again.
Reg and Max spoke warmly of Tor's parties. Of the food. Of the beautiful nature. And the fun they had in such an isolated spot, where they could play sport, make a lot of noise, and generally have the wildest time, without any repercussions.
Erik put his arm around her. "Our spirits need to be set free, in these Norwegian woods," he grinned. "And I would like to see you for what you are. A beautiful Scandinavian sylph."
"We'll have to watch the trolls, though."
"Well, I'm really looking forward to it," he said. "You've told me so many stories of it, Christine."
She sighed.
"The dark north."
They stayed for a while longer. Then finally, it was home to bed. They had both drunk a bit. But not so much that they couldn't see in front of them.
There was a long line of goodbyes. Finally, they got outside. There was just a little snow left, but it was very chilly.
They hurried to their house next door. Janice had kept everything warm and lit. They made their way upstairs, to the haven of their bedroom.
Christine did enjoy this moment. Erik liked helping her get ready for bed. And when he'd been drinking, even more so.
He combed out her long, blonde, curly hair. He undressed her. Erik had always loved doing that. As if she was a doll.
He ran the washcloth over her gleefully, while she stood there patiently. As he leaned over her, she felt his erection digging in. He handled her a lot.
Then, he picked up her lavender-scented nightgown. Tenderly he slipped it over her head. He picked up the hairbrush.
"You can't go to bed looking like that."
"No. I guess I can't," she laughed.
Obediently, she sat on Erik's knee. Christine enjoyed the feel of him brushing her hair. This was one of her favourite things.
As he did, her thoughts drifted.
She imagined herself driving in the Norwegian countryside. She had done that with her father. But then, an unwelcome image came into her mind.
Raoul.
That handsome, blond boy. Once she had really cared for him. They had been children together… and he'd ended up hurting her.
How could he have failed to be there for her when she had a major crisis? How could he have been so boorish?
It still hurt her. But she knew she must not tell Erik that.
Erik wanted to believe she thought she was well rid of Raoul. End of story. She could not tell him that the hurt was still there.
And just think… there was one time when she had thought Raoul was her future.
Well, thought Christine, I'm glad I didn't marry such a young man. I'm glad I married a man who knows what he is doing.
Her hair crackled with electricity. Erik looked at her admiringly.
"I've always said your wealth is in your hair," he smiled.
Christine sighed contentedly. Erik kept her hair in tip-top shape. No wonder it was in such terrific condition.
He stroked it. "You're still so adorable," he said tenderly. "I remember that Scandinavian story you told me. Which I added to."
"Which one was that?"
"It was about the troll that spied on that girl while she was bathing. He fell in love with her. And he thought her hair was gold. The most valuable, finest, purest gold he'd ever seen."
"Yes, I remember." She giggled. "But I think you made most of it up though."
"And will make up more still!" He looked at her cunningly. "I think I can elaborate on that story. And quite convincingly, too.
"She looked up and saw him. It was the heat of his golden eyes. She couldn't miss them. But remember… she was naked. Not a stitch. The fairest sight he'd ever seen.
"So, she grabbed his knife, and attempted to slay herself. But then, he sang to her. And his voice was so beautiful that she just had to listen.
"She could not take her life. She just wanted to spend eternity listening to his voice. And then he sang to the gossamer, strung in the dewy leaves above. And it floated down, and formed a beautiful dress. And that was just enough to preserve her modesty.
"Then he spoke to her soothingly. He told her such sad stories. About all that he'd suffered in life. And how long it took to find one as sweet as her, who he thought might love him despite his imperfections.
"The maiden was entranced. She had never thought a troll worth listening to. And then, a great tear dropped from her eye. As it landed on the green grass, it turned to silver.
"She asked what had happened. He said it was his love for her increasing his magic powers. But he said the magic was coming from her too. Because of her purity of spirit.
"She stopped worrying about modesty. She realized there were worse things to be sad about. And with all he told her, she fell in love."
"Oh! Erik!"
"Does that sound like us?" he grinned.
"It does. But then, I know what you're thinking of."
"What?"
"When you used to spy on me. I'd be getting changed in the dressing room. And oh, you spied on all us girls."
He laughed. "I didn't!"
She giggled. "We all knew you were there, Erik. In the chorus dressing room, there was a little hole in the plaster. We knew you peeped. And in the leading lady room… well, I knew why you installed your door behind the mirror."
He chuckled. "I wasn't that devious."
"Oh yes you were." Christine smiled slyly. "And what did you think when you looked at me?"
"I would weep. I was moved to tears by your beauty. And your innocence. Your graceful tenderness, and your kindness.
"And I would sing songs silently, in my mind, even before you heard me. And I would know you sensed me there. And I was waiting for the blow to come, when I was revealed. It was either that… or hide in the shadows forever."
She stroked him. "Well, you know what happened."
"I'm like the troll."
Christine giggled. "Because of the golden eyes?"
"I'm an ugly bastard." He shrugged. "But I have the feeling, my dear, that trolls are not all that bad. I think they're misunderstood."
She smiled. "I'm not surprised you're siding with them."
"Well, I'd better get this clothing off," he said. "Surely you wouldn't want to watch?" He gave her a cheeky smile.
"I just might."
He set her down on the bed, and went to the corner. Christine sat back. She loved watching him.
She watched Erik unbutton his waistcoat. Then, he removed his shirt.
He turned around. She loved watching him draw his trousers down over his arse. And then, when he turned to face her…
She watched his cock through his pants. It was pretty erect already.
Erik modestly went to wash, and brush his teeth. He did that in such a quiet manner. He had always been a modest boy.
Until now, he had never wanted anyone to watch him.
Finally, he ran the comb through his hair.
Christine sat, waiting.
He joined her on the soft bed. It rustled slightly.
"Now," he said, completely naked. "Have you got anything to say to me?"
"Yes, I have. And it is something you will always deny."
"What?"
"That I can see your beauty."
He grinned. "A load of tosh, Christine. Complete and utter nonsense."
"To me, you are very beautiful."
He laughed.
"Why?"
"I don't know. It's because… I suppose… just because you're you."
"Really?"
"And I love the utter essence of you. I love tasting you. I love feeling you. I love everything about you."
She drew her hand down his belly. She loved his tender skin. They shared a few kisses. Surrounded by his presence, she felt so much better.
They rolled lazily on the bed. Erik was not wearing anything now. She could feel all of his skin. Because the fire had been on for some time, the room was very warm. The sheets were freshly-washed.
Everything was comfortable. But she could make it more so.
She grabbed hold of his strong shoulders. She was overly conscious of his cock. She easily trailed her hand down and found it.
He groaned. "Yes, that's right, darling."
Christine gently worked it, in a soft rhythm. She knew what he liked. She heard his groans. He might come to a peak quickly, if she did not linger it out.
She wriggled downwards. She could see his taut belly. His soft private hair. And his erect, pulsing rod.
Softly, she put her lips around it. She adored his taste. And the sensation of his joy.
She kissed his cock. And then moved her lips further down in a slow, wet trail. Right down to his balls. He was so soft here. So fragile.
Gently she kissed them. His familiar rosiness. Her hands were damp with his fluid. Then, she drew her finger down a little further.
He groaned as it went into his arse. She knew the spot that would make him wild. With one hand stroking his softness, and a finger inside him, she kept up her rhythm. She could smell his excitement. He began to film with sweat.
His groans became louder. He pushed against her. Then she felt the semen pump up through his cock. As she stroked his sack, it came out. Right into her mouth.
"Well… you taste of marzipan icing."
He chuckled. "Really?"
She snuggled up to him. He was languid and relaxed.
"You are wonderful, Christine," he breathed. "Truly wonderful."
"So are you," she murmured.
"May I taste you?"
"There's plenty there," she sniggered. She indicated her full breasts.
Gently he nestled against her. She closed her eyes. Softly he reached for them.
He kissed her. Warmth spread through her. His erotic, tender movements dazzled her as he took her breast in his mouth.
It was extraordinary. How he suckled her, making her feel so special. She pleasured herself. He mouthed her breasts, draining her as he loved her.
Finally, he'd drunk his fill. Then he moved down her tummy.
She felt him kissing her mound of venus. Then, his tongue caressed her. She felt it trailing into her bud.
Christine groaned, and parted her legs. This was her moment. Her favourite moment of the night.
He sucked at what she had. And she kept producing more. He went deeper.
The eroticism became unbearable. Christine began to moan, and shudder. She arched helplessly. Her fluids spurted. Again, and again.
Afterwards, he took her in his arms. "Now, love…" His cock began to find an entry. In her pliant body.
She became very, very loud. Wet and slippery, she clung to her husband. Soaked with various fluids, she was moved to a shuddering climax.
Afterwards, the night noises were soft and faraway. They laid still, cheek to cheek.
Soon, there'd be turmoil. Christine knew she had to face Scandinavia. And confront memories of the past.
There were issues neither of them wanted to tackle. But in a way, it felt like they were being pulled there. It was destiny. Some things had to be completed.
But for the moment, all was peace. She snuggled up to Erik, and breathed in his scent. This moment was just so precious.
Hope you enjoyed Chapter Three. Plenty more to go!
PS and don't forget to read Erik and Christine's backstory in the novel "Her Virtue." Link here: /HerVirtue