She crept up on himand put her arms round his chest.
‘Hi, you lookcool! I hope you’ve got something ready to drink too.’
‘Yes there’s somewhite wine in the fridge, or else a lager if you’dprefer.’
He was quitedomesticated too, which had impressed Gemma. He knew that she wouldhave had a trying day at court and had prepared an inviting-lookingside salad to go with the burgers and chops sizzling and spittingaway on the barbecue.
Gemma pouredherself a glass of Riesling and pulled the somewhat rickety woodentable they had found in the shed into position. Although theshadows were beginning to lengthen it was still a lovely, slightlymuggy summer evening. Mark served up his culinary effort; eventhough food always seemed to taste better when eaten outdoors, itwas still quite impressive. They sat in a couple of fold-outchairs, looking out over the fields that backed onto the row ofcottages and watching, a way further on, a herd of black and whiteFriesians meandering back to the farm buildings for their eveningmilking.
‘You know Ido appreciate this, Mark. Let’s go down to the pub for a couple ofdrinks later on. I’m going to go and have a shower and change. Whydon’t you come and give my back a massage after that, before we goout?’
Markrecognised the invitation as a thinly disguised euphemism andcouldn’t help smiling; not a bad way to start the weekend, hethought. It was encouraging that it was her idea as well. As usualGemma certainly looked good in what she termed her ‘court clothes’and he couldn’t miss the naughty smirk as she brushed past him onher way indoors.
After theinitial excitement of the move to Petworth and since livingtogether things had become less spontaneous and even less regular.Of course, he realised that Gemma had a full-time job but then hedid more than his share of looking after things. It wasn’t thatthey weren’t having sex, just that it less frequently involved hertaking the lead. He heard the shower spring to life and felt theusual stirrings as he took their plates to the kitchen sink andtopped up their drinks.
It was nice to washthe week away and as she let the water sprinkle through her hair,Gemma knew she’d enjoy Mark sorting her out; and she would enjoyplaying her part too. And even if it might be that she was usinghim, as people would no doubt put it, he was having a bloody goodtime of it as well. She enjoyed sex and it was a source ofpride-cum-duty that she always liked to make sure that her partnerdid too.
***
Her meetingMark at Ford Open Prison as he was being considered for parole hadpresented the glimmer of an opportunity that, perhaps even unknownto herself at first, Gemma had been waiting for ever since herfather died. It was apparent that he had made a pretty decent jobof poisoning both of his in-laws some years previously; and onreading up on his case she discovered that if he’d have been a bitmore together and a better judge of character he would probablynever have been found out. Gemma knew she was good-looking and hadplayed on that of course, and played on him. Without having anydefinite plan but just an inkling that he could perhaps help hersomehow, she had homed in on Mark as a potential ally in gettingback at her mother, even perhaps getting rid of her. Ratherpathetically, too, she actually quite liked playing along to thepart of a soft, naïve and impressionable young woman coming toterms with work in the ‘real’ world. At the same time she had toadmit that she had liked the looks he gave her on her first visitto Ford. Of course, there wasn’t much competition given he had beenin prison for around six years, but he had an air ofself-confidence bordering on arrogance that she liked, as well as abit of class too, and he was obviously reasonably intelligent –and, to be fair, reasonable-looking as well. She had expected to bedealing with offenders who had problems reading and writing ratherthan those with post-graduate qualifications and universityteaching experience.
As well asthat, though, Mark had proved remarkably easy for her tomanipulate. She smiled to herself as she remembered the way he hadlapped up her massaging of his ego when he was telling her aboutthe supposedly famous sociologists he’d known and worked with. Theymight have written the odd, fairly readable and indeed arguablyerudite text – and she had enjoyed parts of her Sociology degree atSurrey too – but they were hardly iconic figures of the age or evenhousehold names. Harold Garfinkel, David Matza and the like wereunlikely to be recognised and mobbed on the streets; and their workmight not have moved humankind on a great deal. NonethelessSociology had given Gemma and Mark some common ground and gettingto know him had proved more fun than she had imagined it would – hehad more about him than her previous dates and boyfriends.Actually, it made her quite horny thinking of how she’d managedthings since meeting him and since his release last November. Sherealised that she had been rubbing the soap between her legs forlonger than usual and shouted to Mark to come up and see to her. Noharm in mixing pleasure with scheming. As she waited for him shefound herself pondering briefly on the difference between revengeand vengeance. Maybe revenge implied something more personal andmore equivalent too,
